


Panem Abbey

by Rap541



Category: Downton Abbey, Hunger Games Series - All Media Types
Genre: Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-21
Updated: 2017-12-10
Packaged: 2018-03-31 13:17:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 32
Words: 95,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3979423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rap541/pseuds/Rap541
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Downton was in Panem?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Patrick's Funeral

**Author's Note:**

> This idea came to me recently. It's a fusion, not a true crossover - Downton is in District 10, there are Hunger Games, but you won't be seeing the characters or events of the actual books. I'm more exploring the setting with different characters.

The problem, Violet thought as she watched the graveside ceremony, was that Robert should never have let it come to this. Patrick had always counted on being the lord’s heir to protect him from everything, even the Reaping. The problem was that Patrick had never understood what that protection would cost him. At least, not until it was too late. The note he’d pinned to his chest before he’d hung himself said ‘I should have died in the arena’, and she couldn’t help but wonder if he’d been right about that. He hadn’t been the worst candidate in the field, he’d been eighteen and unlike the average young lad of District Ten, he’d been strong, healthy, and well fed. He’d even had some idea of fighting, the landholders didn’t go as far as some districts as to actively train their children for the blood bath, but there were lessons taught away from the eyes of the Peacekeepers.

No, Patrick had been broken by the price he’d paid by having his safety assured at the expense of another. She doubted his father James had ever told him, until after his name was called, that a deal had been made, that if his name was pulled, that someone would volunteer for him. James of course had been a bastard about it. It would have worked if it had been some anonymous boy from the outlying edges, but James had hated distant cousin Reginald for being smarter in school, marrying the girl he wanted, and having a son that outshined his own boy in most ways. Worse that Patrick and Matthew had been friends, Matthew on the edges of the landholder crowd, and devoted to his slightly older cousin who stood to inherit. An easy child to manipulate, especially as he watched his father grow sicker and sicker, James had told him that if he volunteered for Patrick, that his parents would be taken care of, that money for medicine from the Capitol would be found. James hadn’t counted on gangly fifteen year old Matthew Crawley winning the Games, only to come home to find his father on his deathbed because James refused to waste the money or keep his side of the bargain. Matthew had never forgiven James, and it had preyed on Patrick, especially when his own father died not long after Reginald. Robert had tried, she would never deny it, but the unpleasant reality was that Patrick had never bounced back from Matthew volunteering as tribute for him. Robert had let Patrick coast along instead of forcing him to take up duties about the estate, when what Patrick really needed was someone to kick him in the posterior and make him work. The poor chap had needed something to do. In the end, he was probably right. It would have been better if he died in the Games. Matthew at the very least would have been spared some damage.

She dropped a rose onto the grave and stepped back. Robert did the same, and took her arm while his wife and daughters paid their respects. Robert gestured over to the sparse mourners.

“I notice Matthew didn’t bother to show up,” he said curtly.

“I notice you’re still blaming the wrong person in this,” Violet shot back. “And you’re wrong. If you look up the hillside, he’s waiting by his father’s memorial. Isobel came so that no one would question his not showing up for the entire ceremony.” She didn’t point, she merely gestured slightly with her cane. Robert fortunately was wise enough to not do more than glance up the hillside.

“I don’t blame him, it’s not Matthew’s fault,” Robert huffed. “But at the end of this day, he’s now my heir. He’ll need to do more than lounge around the Victor’s Village.”

“I lounge about the Victor’s Village,” Violet said, her voice taking on an edge.

“That’s different, Mother. You married and raised children. You helped build the estate. You… didn’t spend your entire life wallowing in the unpleasantness.” Robert seemed to consider his words. “I’m not judging Matthew. He was unfairly treated by James. I haven’t pressured him to attend family events because of the… unpleasantness. But he’s 23 and now the heir to one of the largest holdings in District 10. Mother, he’s had years to make peace with the memories of the Games. It’s awkward, I don’t deny it, but he’ll need to step up.”

“Oh Robert….” She sighed. “It has been over fifty years and I haven’t made peace with what I did in the Games. Do grant your new heir a little bit of time.

~*~

“You know,” Mary called as she walked up the hillside, “you’re allowed to be seen with the family. In fact I think Papa is planning on insisting you attend dinner with us tonight.” She made a point of smiling at Matthew, who didn’t even look away from his father’s grave marker. People tended to leave Matthew alone and apart, and he fostered that along by rarely showing up to any sort of event. She wasn’t sure she blamed him for keeping to himself. People in the district weren’t used to having a young victor among them. There was Granny, of course, and Hodges, who was in his sixties and senile to where he was discreetly removed from most ceremonies once he’d put in an appearance. And Richard McKendrick, a fortyish fat man with a missing hand and the one remaining attached to either a fork or a bottle. Her grandmother could still inspire some terror with a harsh look but that was more due to her status as widow of Edward Crawley the prior Lord. People knew she was a victor of the games but it was so distant. It was the same with Hodges, who wasn’t that much younger, and Dickie McKendrick was the town drunk and prone to sobbing into his plate in the few restaurants in District 10’s largest town.

Matthew in contrast walked through the streets as though there was an invisible force field surrounding him, that if people got too close, he just might slam them into a wall or gouge out their eyes. It didn’t help that the eye gouging finale of his games was one of the Capitol’s all-time favorite kills. The popular commentators had spent a deal of time during the last games, fretting that no one would ever top Matthew Crawley’s victory kill.

He took a seat at the small wooden bench that she knew either he or his mother had placed near the grave and gestured for her to join him. “I didn’t want people thinking I was gloating. And I didn’t want the funeral to be about me putting in an appearance. This,” and he gestured to the grave marker, “was never Patrick’s doing. I know who made promises to me, and I know who didn’t keep them. I forgave Patrick years ago. When his father died.” He laughed suddenly. “I don’t think Cousin James ever understood how he emasculated his own son publically. How could anyone take Patrick seriously as a land holder and lord when it would always be known that his father bargained to save his life, only to cheat? Your father will never admit it, but I imagine he’s somewhat relieved he doesn’t have to hand the estate to the District laughing stock.”

“I won’t deny that,” Mary said carefully, “particularly since I’m no longer expected to marry the District laughing stock. However, at dinner tonight you *will* be seated with Edith on one side, and me on the other, and Sybil across the way. Papa and Mama won’t be very subtle in telling you to pick your poison.”

He frowned. “For god’s sake, Sybil is still eligible for the Reaping.” He smiled at her. “I should flirt with Sybil tonight. I can horrify your parents, my mother, your servants and even poor Sybil all at once.”

“I accept how amusing that will be, but you do understand she is currently so taken with Papa’s chauffer that she probably wouldn’t notice unless you grabbed her and kissed her and asked her to marry you.” Despite the day, she laughed. “And she would say no, of course.”

“As well she should, since I would be a terrible cad in asking,” Matthew agreed. Then he sighed. “You know why I can’t ask you.”

She nodded. She didn’t agree with his reasons, but it was the space between them. “It’s different now. You are Papa’s heir. I wouldn’t be marrying the spare.”

“No, but you would be marrying the District victor. The District victor who periodically has to go to the Capitol to…. Attend functions. Our being married wouldn’t stop that. It wouldn’t stop until there a new victor with reasonable good looks.” Matthew didn’t look at her.

“I don’t care about that,” she said after a moment. He had to do what the Capitol required. She wasn’t a fool. She knew the person who partied until the dawn in the Capitol with women and men was doing it in part because he worried if he wasn’t the pleasant victor companion, then his mother amongst others would be made to pay. If she and Matthew married, she would have to share him with whoever in the Capitol wanted him to bed. She didn’t like it but there was no way to fight it unless they went rebel.

“We couldn’t have children. I know you care about that.” He said it with resignation. “Any child I have, male or female, will be a Crawley of the victor line. You know they wouldn’t be able to resist.”

“I do know. That’s why I don’t insist.” It was hard though. She waited a long moment. “We could cut the wire. Run. We’re both clever and we know what to do in the woods. You think I didn’t pay attention in hedge school but I did. Papa showed me how to make a bow, and how to skin out an animal. I’m not as useless as I appear.” She waited a long moment. “They skipped the line with Papa and Aunt Rosemund. You might be wrong.”

“It was a different president then,” Matthew said. “Frankly I worry that Sybil will be targeted.” He looked at her. “I don’t like to tell tales but I am certain she’s putting her name in for tessarae.” His eyes looked worried. “I don’t know for certain but if she is putting her name in, she’s being incredibly stupid. It’s difficult in outlier districts to arrange tributes, but it’s not impossible when people act as stupid as they possibly can be. Worse, if she’s doing what I think, and that’s dropping off the food at the local orphanage, she’s asking for trouble.”

“You know, sometimes you’re very paranoid,” she said, smiling as she took his hand.

“You know, sometimes for someone so clever and calculating, you’re very naïve, Mary.” He wasn’t going to be jollied out of his bad mood, she could see that. “She’s playing at being a rebel by putting her name in and giving the food to orphans. She thinks she’s making a point. All she is really doing is attracting attention. Talk to her.” He shrugged and looked away. “You know she won’t listen to me.”

“She’s young and she doesn’t understand how the world works. She hates the system she’s stuck in, and sees you as complicit with our real overlords and doesn’t understand that it isn’t as simple as that.” Mary squeezed his hand reassuringly. She understood, more than he thought. Matthew did what he was told by his handlers in the Capitol because he had no doubt they would kill his mother if he didn’t. That was why he didn’t go over the fence into the wilderness. If he married, the wife and her family would take Isobel’s place as hostages of fate. And any child would be fodder for the games. She looked out over the tombstones. Of course there were flowers on Lavinia’s grave, and her father’s as well. “I understand your father, of course, and Lavinia, but why do you tend Mr. Swire’s grave?”

He looked at her, surprised by her question. “I never told you?”

“No, that’s why I ask.

He seemed to consider it for a long moment. “We made several agreements when she was chosen as tribute and when I volunteered for Patrick. It helped that we were friends. We agreed that we would not attack each other until we were the final two.” He sighed heavily. “I was always thankful that I was spared that particular horror.” Then he gestured to his father’s grave. “And we agreed that if one of us won, that the victor would see that the loser’s parents were taken care of. Reggie Swire was a good man, he welcomed me into his life when everyone else was flinching away from me in horror. He’s earned a few flowers once a week.”

“In fairness, you were remarkably unpleasant to be around then.” She leaned into him, grateful that he had managed to conquer the worst of the demons from that time. In the distance she could see the wire fences that enclosed the district. “I meant it, you know. I’d go with you, under the wire.”

He squeezed her hand. “I know. But they would kill my mother, and your parents and sisters. I can’t see a way out of this particular trap. Not without a full scale rebellion.”

“Maybe we should. Have a full scale rebellion, I mean.” She meant it to be funny. “We can discuss it at dinner tonight. After Papa awkwardly points out you’re now his heir and offers you the choice of his daughters. Please don’t show up drunk. I find it charming but we are technically mourning, you know.”

“Can I pretend to be drunk?”


	2. Chapter two - The Awkwardness of What Matthew Did

Robert was thankful that Matthew showed up for the dinner on time and with his mother in tow. Isobel had no love for his family, but her presence meant that there wasn’t likely to be a rehash of the family divide. It was awful to think about it so bluntly, but he had wondered more than once since he had found Patrick’s body days earlier if the man’s death might be the thing that reunited the family. He had always liked Reginald. Unlike other collateral members of landholding families, Reginald hadn’t harbored any resentment over the inheritance laws, and focused his energy on gaining the rare scholarship opportunity of medical school. Capitol born doctors and nurses didn’t like working in the districts so there were a few rare opportunities to be had. At least back then. The number of scholarships handed out in the last few years negligible, mostly to replace necessary workers. He suspected that Reginald and Isobel, who had also been educated in in the Capitol, had hoped Matthew would get such an opportunity. He was certainly clever enough, but of course being a victor changed everything.

When he had found out what James had done, that Matthew hadn’t volunteered out of stupidity or boyish affection for his older cousin, but that James had promised the lad that the money would be found to get a doctor from the Capitol to help his father, he had been incensed. Reginald had been coughing for months, some sort of lung infection that young men threw off but Reginald being close to sixty, it had been killing him slowly. James had heard from a friend he had cultivated in the Peacekeepers that Patrick, too outspoken in school about politics, heir to a large holding and second cousin to an aging victor, had been targeted by the Capitol for the Reaping. It wasn’t unheard of. The unpleasant reality was that the Capitol liked to mock the lord and landholder conventions of District Ten which meant they liked seeing the son or daughter of landholder more than the child of one of the field workers.

James had just gone too far. Matthew had been a child watching his beloved father die, and had been brought up to be honorable. When people made promises, they were supposed to keep them. It had been a cruel manipulation on James’s part but Robert would have forgiven it if James had kept his word. He would have even helped with the cost if he had known. James had simply assumed the boy would die in the games if it ever came to that, and he’d be rid of Reginald who he never liked. Matthew had gone to the Games, survived the horrors, only to come home and find his father near death. It had been Matthew who had told him what James had promised him, in the clinic where his father had died moments earlier. Matthew had damn near killed James in the street that evening and by the time the fight was broken up, the story was already out. Robert had to admit, he hadn’t cared in the slightest that James and to a lesser extent Patrick, had been vilified in the district as cheats and cowards. James had withdrawn to the estate, hiding from view until his heart gave out nine months later. Patrick had muddled along, most of the district eventually coming to accept that he hadn’t been involved. And Matthew…

Matthew had retreated to his new home in the Victor’s Village and veritably hissed in outrage at anyone who tried to reach out to him. It wasn’t helped that the Games had been so bloody and Matthew had established himself as a surprising front runner by setting up clever traps designed to cripple his larger competitors. Matthew hadn’t been able to let go of the urge to fight and lashed out at anyone. It was what happened when a child was taught to be a vicious animal, Violet had warned him when he’d tried to talk to the lad. For close to a year, the only people who could approach Matthew were his mother, Mary for some odd reason, and Reggie Swire… and there had been no guarantee of pleasantness, he just wasn’t openly hostile or violent. Matthew had slowly recovered, the dark angry side reappearing only after visits to the Capitol. Dinner at the Abbey wasn’t a Capitol visit but it was a reminder of the Games and what James had done to him.

It also made the traditional opening act of a formal family mourning dinner awkward. Robert held up his wine glass. “In memory of Patrick. May he be at peace.” Everyone clinked glasses, including Matthew and Robert breathed a sigh of relief. He waited until the first course was served to bring up the obvious. “Matthew, you do understand you’re now my heir. When I die, you’ll become Earl of Grantham. You will need to take more of an interest in running things.”

“Why?” Matthew asked pleasantly. “I have no intention of marrying or having children. I have no need for your wealth, I have my own home and a lifelong income, all thanks to Cousin James, of course. I’ll abdicate to whoever is next in line.”

Robert sighed. “There’s no one.” He had checked and rechecked even before Patrick’s suicide because accidents happen, and far too many of his fellow lords and landholder would be delighted in seeing the Grantham earldom torn apart.

Matthew blinked. He looked around, eying the servants who all glared daggers back at him. “Then accept that I will consider the dilemma and discuss it later.”

Because Matthew was paranoid about his conversations being overheard. Isobel had warned him on numerous occasions that Matthew was uncomfortable with any serious discussions occurring indoors or around servants. That meant an awkward, almost silent dinner.

“Join me, Matthew, for a walk outside. It’s a nice night. Bourbon is always better under a full moon.” He gestured to the women. “You ladies of course should stay inside.” His daughters and his mother rolled his eyes at him, while Cora nodded. Of course she understood.

He waited until they were a good distance from the house to speak. “Do you consider me a fool, Matthew?” he asked.

“Not a terrible fool, no,” Matthew said after a long moment of thought. “I think you don’t understand how I am trying to protect your daughters. I am not a fool, Robert. I understand completely that whichever daughter I name, willing or unwilling, you would drag them to the altar and force them to marry me whether they wanted to or not.”

“I wouldn’t *force* any of them to marry you.” Robert laughed suddenly. “If only because they all have the steel of my mother in their souls, and that means you wouldn’t survive your wedding night if the chosen bride didn’t want it. But… at least one of my daughters wants it, and you’re not so clever at hiding your feelings that I don’t know that you’re not entirely against it.”

Matthew looked at him with stricken eyes. “I’ve already conceded you’re not a fool, Robert. If you need it spelled out, I will. Any child I have with anyone, not just one of your daughters, will be targeted for the games.”

“Agreed,” Robert said tiredly. “Now, do you think I don’t live with that concern? Or that my mother, a victor, never had that concern? Or that anyone else, your parents included, ever looked down at their child and worried?”

“It’s not as simple as that,” Matthew said after a long moment. “I don’t *choose* to attend Capitol events. My presence is required by whoever pays the President to invite me. I don’t get a choice about attending or about what I do. If I don’t comply… There are threats hanging over me. Threats that involve others.”

Of course there were, Robert thought sadly. “Do you think you’re the only one? Do you never talk to Violet or Hodges or Dickie?”

Matthew shrugged. “Have you been to the Victor’s Village recently? Hodges, when he isn’t soiling himself or hitting his nurses, thinks I’m his beloved daughter Rebecca. Apparently we have very similar eyes. She died in the games, you know. Dickie only talks about the food he’s eating or the alcohol he’s drinking or how he can’t close his eyes without seeing the people he’s killed, and Cousin Violet isn’t a good example considering we’re talking about family being targeted.”

“If Patrick was targeted, and I am not convinced he was, it was due to his own stupidity and arrogance.” Robert surprised himself with his own anger. “It’s wrong to speak ill of the dead, I know, but he was outspoken and due to inherit my position, and he should have known better.”

“Is that what you want me to do? Keep my mouth shut and accept the status quo? Marry one of your daughters and breed enough children that hopefully they won’t all be taken in the Games?” Matthew clenched his fists. “The only reason I haven’t slipped under the wire is that they’d kill my mother for spite, and your family as well, and as enraged as I have been, I don’t want anyone else’s death on my hands. Isn’t that amusing?”

This will work, Robert thought with no small amount of relief. “Matthew… where do you think the rebels get food from?”

“They… live in the woods and scavenge. Like I did… I suppose that’s why they don’t do anything useful…”Matthew shrugged. “I never really thought about it.”

“Well, maybe you should,” Robert said. “Because Downton could be more prosperous and instead… As long as the quotas are met, no one really cares how much doesn’t make it to the supply train.”

“That’s…” Matthew paled. “That’s a huge risk, Robert.”

“Yes it is,” Robert said. “It’s a risk I take because I don’t like being under the boot of Panem. I didn’t like dreading every Reaping, or knowing that I was helpless to prevent my own children from being chosen. I don’t like that my own mother has things in her life that she’s so deeply ashamed of, she can’t bear to share them. I hate the fact that James was so terrified about losing his son that he ruined his own life, Patrick’s life and your life in an attempt to save Patrick. I can’t make you care about Downton, but lets be honest. Your mother seems healthy enough that it will be a good ten to twenty years before you can run off and join the rebellion. The Capitol would still take vengeance on the family so you’d guarantee our deaths. Or you can take on your new position and begin to see that there’s more going on here than a ruthless grinding down of the peasants. There’s a bigger picture here.”

“No one trusts me, Robert. I’m a tool of the Capitol, the scary victor who goes for the eyes,” Matthew said it bitterly.

“You were a terrified boy fighting for your life with the knowledge that it was kill or be killed. I won’t deny that you’ve hardly been an example to others the last few years, but if you’d let yourself really look around, you’d see people are more sympathetic to you than you realize.”

“I don’t want sympathy,” Matthew shot back. “I was a stupid fool to trust James, I’ll never be anything to these people but a stupid fool and a killer.”

“That’s what my mother was,” Robert said quietly. “A stupid fool who volunteered for her crippled sister, her sister that died just a few months later from the defects that had kept her in a wheelchair her entire life. And a killer. No one wins the games without killing. And funny, she’s considered quite respectful and worthy of imitating.” A look at Matthew’s face told him he wasn’t getting through. It wasn’t a surprise. It was probably the longest conversation he’d ever had with the man that hadn’t ended in shouted curses. “Look, I don’t need an answer tonight. Legally the estate is yours the day I die and you can do whatever you like with it. I’m offering to involve you in a way that allows you to fight back. Frankly you’ll probably be better at it than I. For what it’s worth, it’s not just me bringing this offer. Reggie Swire nominated you years ago.”

“Really? Why?”

“Because he saw through the angry bitter boy you were and understood that you needed time to heal before you could be involved. If Patrick hadn’t…. hadn’t chosen another path, I was planning to ask you to be the estate agent regardless, so that you could be brought in. The others would never accept Patrick but they will accept you.”

“If I accept this, it’s because I want the games to end, all the people to be free, not because I want your estate. There won’t be a marriage or children,” Matthew said it firmly.

It was funny, Robert thought, how Matthew was his father’s twin in looks and how Isobel Turnbull’s pure streak of stubbornness was so firmly entrenched. “I can’t make you marry anyone or have a child. But… ignore everything else we’ve talked about. Don’t you think you’d be looked at less suspiciously if you were seen settling down? Even people in the Capitol have *some* sense of decorum. You’d be a lot less attractive if you were married.”

“What a terrible reason to get married,” Matthew said. “To protect myself.”

“Because protecting others has served you so well,” Robert shot back. “Mary is in love with you and she won’t marry until you pick someone else.” He hesitated. It wasn’t the type of thing he spoke about normally, even to his wife. “I don’t pretend to understand what is between you and my daughter. I don’t know why it happened, and I don’t care. I would welcome you to the family as a son in law. What you and Mary have right now is untenable. You obviously have feelings for her, she has feelings for you. You’re not required to be miserable your entire life. I’m not saying your fears are irrational, Matthew, but we all share them.” He hesitated. He trusted Matthew not to tell any secrets, Matthew more than most understood how the hammer would fall. “Things are changing faster than you think. By the time you have a child old enough for the Reaping, it may… not be a concern.”

Matthew blinked, taking that in. Finally he said, “I won’t make any decision tonight… but I am inclined to at least consider learning more about how the estate is run.”

“That’s all I ask.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of this chapter is set up for the bigger story. While the big story is the Games and who ends up in the Games, the Downtony backstory of the unexpected heir and the entangled love is also important. Plus it was fun to explore Robert's character.


	3. Chapter Three -Sybil's New Teacher

“Gwen, are you coming? You know Papa said everyone who worked in the Abbey could go, with wages.” Sybil didn’t normally push Gwen but it was a rare occasion where they could do something together without both of them being chided for forgetting who they were. The hedge school class was to teach adolescents some of the skills they might need to survive if they were chosen for the games. Papa had always invited the servants children to attend but it meant losing pay. The classes themselves were usually pointless and dull, the boys playing at stickfighting while the girls had to watch since most of the lords abhorred the idea of their little ladies fighting. As part of Papa’s plan to entice Cousin Matthew into doing something on the estate other than nothing, Papa had asked him to take over the hedge school classes and Matthew had agreed as long as the servants didn’t lose their pay.

She suspected Papa was going to find Matthew to be an obstinate stone in his shoe.

Gwen shook her head as she made the bed. “My da said I shouldn’t. That Mr. Crawley….” She looked down at the bedding. “He says Mr. Crawley is crazy in the head. Dangerous.”

Sybil laughed. “You’ve seen him around the house. Does he seem dangerous?” People were so odd about Matthew, she didn’t understand it. Granted, he had been decidedly strange after the Games, refusing to return to school, running around the fields and forest at night as though demons were chasing him, punching and hitting anyone who dared lay a hand on him… He’d been much better the last few years. “Papa says he’s past his troubles. And Mary says he plans to let us girls actually do things so come on.” She waited a moment. “You can tell your da I ordered you in a high handed fashion if you like.”

Gwen gave up at that point and nodded. “All right, but you know it will just be silly.”

Sybil nodded but inside she wasn’t so sure. She had been attending the hedge school since she was ten. Once a week, unless there was a holiday, she had attended and while it was fun to socialize with her friends, she didn’t see how any of it was useful to surviving the Games. But of course the hedge school was usually taught by one of the more elderly lords of the District. Which led to stick fighting among the boys and the girls watching and flirting with the winners. The only reason she expected it to be different was that Cousin Matthew was a victor and had bluntly told her father that the only way he’d take the job was if he could make the class less pointless.

Hedge school, as far as the Peacekeepers knew, was for the upper class children of District ten to learn how to step into their positions as lords and ladies. Some dancing and etiquette and walks into the woods and fields to see how to be good landholders… Some of the teachers even spent the time going over the dances and courtesies just so they could say honestly that it was taught.

The school room was in the tithe barn. The servant children and the field workers went to their own school. District Ten provided grain and livestock for Panem, and the lords who ran the estates made sure the basic essentials got to the Capitol. Her father, being Earl of Grantham, ruled over a large swath of land. The estates all circled around the main town, although Granny said that wasn’t true when she was a child, that some people had estates out closer to the edges of the district but the Peacekeepers had forced such endeavors closer to the center, with compensation granted of course.. Landholders were allowed to school their children in separate schools but based on what Gwen told her, there wasn’t much difference except that the children of the poor were always encouraged to take up jobs on the estates as soon as they were able. The ones who waited to get their high school diplomas missed out on choice spots as gardeners, maids, footmen, or chauffeurs like Tom and ended as field hands, working in the grain fields or tending the beasts. Gwen, the daughter of a field hand and a stock worker, was lucky to have gotten a position as a maid at Downton. All her brothers and sisters looked up to her.

It made Sybil angry, truth be told. Gwen went to school for a half day, and worked herself to the bone before and after school just to protect her younger siblings from taking tesserae. Sybil had offered to help her, she got an allowance for things like hair ribbons and sugary treats, money that field workers like Gwen’s parents never saw, but Gwen had said no, that it would cause trouble. Instead, she used most of her allowance to buy extra food for the orphans. She agreed with Gwen and Tom Bransom, it wasn’t fair how everyone had to work so hard to get so little while the lords had lavish parties, and while the Capitol fattened itself on the meat and grain District Ten provided. The reality was that she was privileged and it angered her because she had done nothing to deserve it. Patrick had done nothing but be born close in blood to a lord and gotten out of fighting for the Capitol’s pleasure. It angered her that her initiation into adult responsibilities had been her father taking her on a long walk when she turned twelve and gently explaining how careful she had to be in order to not draw attention, that the whole mess with Matthew and Patrick made it impossible for him to do anything save watch as the name of one of his daughters was drawn. The Capitol couldn’t stop anyone from volunteering for the Games, but they frowned on the overseers to the peasants attempting to circumvent their will. It was lucky James hadn’t actually kept his side of the bargain he made with Matthew because the Capitol could have construed it as attempting to subvert the Games, a form of treason.

She took a seat next to Gwen, noting how there were definitely more of the servant children there than normal. She was surprised that Matthew was sitting on the edge of the school master’s desk, the sort of pose that usually led to the school master wielding his crop on the boy foolish enough to disrespect the master. Matthew looked faintly amused. That made Sybil wary. Matthew rarely showed up for family events but she knew from experience that a slight smile could mean he was amused, or that he was about to say or do something utterly vile. She was also surprised to see Mary, sitting in the corner, dressed in hunting clothes, including breeches instead of a skirt. Mary hadn’t mentioned helping Matthew, but then, Mary and Matthew liked to pretend no one noticed that they didn’t hate each other despite their snipping.

“Everybody needs to grab a seat,” Matthew said suddenly. Sybil wasn’t surprised to see everyone move quickly. Matthew waited until they were all seated to stand up and take a position in front of the class. “So,” he said, projecting well to the back of the room, “I’m not going to insult you all by pretending you don’t know that I am Matthew Crawley, District Ten’s most recent victor in the Hunger Games. I mean, you were all required to watch my games, correct?” A few of the braver teens nodded. Matthew smirked and resumed his seat sitting on top of the desk. “Why don’t we get all the awkwardness out of the way. Raise your hands if you’ve been told by your parents, or a teacher, or someone at the pub, that I am quite mad?”

Everyone looked around at each other nervously. No one raised their hands. Matthew actually laughed. “So this is a room full of liars, I see. Not a one of you has heard this?” He started to eye them. “I mean, even I’ve heard the rumors. Let’s see… I heard the games drove me mad, that I didn’t speak to anyone for a year. I howl at the moon when it’s full, and if a good stock calf ends up torn to shreds, I’m usually the one to blame. The blood lust and the insanity just makes me do it… that and the full moon, of course.” He waited a moment. “Come on, I’ve sure you know some good stories.”

A boy shyly raised his hand. “My brother said you eat rats, like you did in the games, that you got a taste for it…”

“And you talk to graves and ghosts,” another boy said. Suddenly everyone was willing to share their favorite stories about how crazy the victors were. It was clever, Sybil realized suddenly. She knew Matthew more than most and she could admit that she had been afraid of him the first few years after his games. He had changed, calmed down, and become less constantly angry but he also kept to himself. As each story got more and more outlandish, with Matthew chuckling and offering creative embellishments that even a small child wouldn’t believe, it also broke down the barriers between them.

“Now,” he said as the joking over the stories dropped off, “ I know I am older than all of you, but I do remember this class. The boys would wrestle and playfight in front of the girls. Maybe sneak in some hand holding when teacher was breaking up a stickfight.” Matthew’s tone was pleasant. “So let’s talk about the next awkward thing. Hitting each other with sticks is a fun game, but it isn’t teaching you anything. It’s certainly not fighting with a sword. Another raise of hands, please. How many people did I kill with a sword?”

After a long, long moment of silence, Sybil gave up and raised her hand. “You didn’t kill anyone with a sword. You mostly used your hands, and tree limbs, and sharp rocks.” She could remember Papa being worried at first that Matthew, who had been so much smaller than most of the competitors, had barely gotten away from the Cornucopia at the start of the game with any supplies, let alone a decent weapon but that had changed rather quickly. “You did give a good show with a quarterstaff.” His second kill in the games was him taking out a Career from District Two that never suspected that a staff could trump a sword. Papa liked to harp on that when he gave her lessons in quarterstaff.

“Thank you Lady Sybil,” Matthew said easily. “However, you’ll also remember that Marcello would have easily overpowered me if he hadn’t forgotten he was near a cliff. My skill at staves had very little to do with it. Which brings me to a point I need to make. I am not a Career tribute, and neither are you. If, god forbid, one or two of you are chosen, if you make it out alive, it will be mostly luck that saves you. I won’t be teaching you how to use a sword, or a knife. The next Reaping is four months away.” He crossed his arms. “What kills tributes?”

“Other tributes,” Larry Grey muttered. A few of the boys snickered. So did Mary.

“Fair enough,” Matthew said easily. “But let’s do a little thinking about it. Who dies first? Anyone who is too slow, am I right? Anyone too small who gets the silly idea the big kids won’t notice them.” Sybil found herself nodding. The people always just nodded sadly when a young tribute was chosen. Matthew had been an oddity, it was usually a tribute with their full growth that won the games. The slow, mentally and physically, were usually cut down in minutes. Just last year, there had been a girl with a limp who had barely made it off the starting pad before she was cut down. Matthew gave the younger teens an unpleasant look. “I can’t help you there. All I can tell you is that I didn’t become six foot tall until a good year after my games. It’s not impossible. But… here are the real things that kill tributes. Number one, lack of water. You will be running constantly. You do not know what being thirsty is. Raise of hands, where are the closest sources of water to this building?” He waited just a moment and then rattled off every spigot, toilet, well, stream, ditch, pond, and spring within a mile. It was exhausting to listen to. He gave them all a glare. “You don’t know what being thirsty is. Your first bit of homework is to open your eyes and find out where the water is. Water will keep you alive. Food keeps you alive,” he looked around the room pointedly, “and I suspect a good two thirds of you have no idea where the food on your plate comes from. So I will teach you about food. Finding food, not eating poisonous things… Tributes die all the time from starvation and eating poisonous things. We’re also going to talk about finding shelter. Now today’s class is here, but next Saturday, we will be walking about the wood line. That means I expect appropriate clothes, and shoes. Lady Mary, please stand up.”

Sybil watched as Mary stepped out in front of the class. Matthew gestured to her hunting clothes. “I know some of you ladies will gristle at the idea of getting into hunting clothes, breeches in particular, but if you are chosen for the games, it will mean trousers of some sort.”

If not worse, Sybil thought. Four years ago, the first year she was eligible for the Reaping, the Arena had been nothing but sand dunes, water holes and oasis’s and the tributes wore nothing but skin tight underpants and t-shirts that left nothing to the imagination. Those Games had been brutally short. She saw Gwen frown and immediately knew the problem. “I have an old pair,” she whispered reassuringly, “and we’re the same size.”

Cousin Matthew seemed to understand the problem as well. “I know some of you may not have hunting clothes, because Lord Grantham, to the best of my knowledge, doesn’t take female servants hunting, and some of you ladies may not be allowed by your parents.” Matthew held up a clipboard with paper. “Just write your name down. My mother enjoys sewing and my victor’s stipend has to be spent somewhere. Now, let’s talk about food. I assume you all enjoy eating. Do you know, I don’t even remember what that rat tasted like because I was too delighted to get something to eat…”

~*~

It was odd to listen to, Mary thought as she watched Matthew explain all the secret sources of food in and around the tithe barn. She knew he thought about the Games, he had told her once that his first thoughts on waking and his last thoughts before going to sleep were about the Games. It just never occurred to her that even eight years later, he was still so deeply enwrapped by it that he kept himself constantly aware of things. But, as she thought about it, it was always there. He rarely turned his back on someone he didn’t trust, and she knew he barely trusted anyone at all.

It was also odd to see him interact with people without all the anger. She knew that side of him existed. Hardly anyone seemed to remember that Matthew had been funny, and had liked to joke with his friends. All people ever seemed to remember was the vicious killings, and Matthew beating up Cousin James in the street, and the many, many fights that started so innocently. Innocent if one didn’t realize that someone touching you from behind in the Games meant they were about to cut your throat. She watched with amusement as he dismissed the teens, firmly reminding them that he planned to test them next Saturday on what he had taught them. “You know,” she said brightly, “I never would have thought it but you’re a very good teacher.”

“Well, I suspect I am a grand novelty, right now,” Matthew said easily. “Thank you for agreeing to come. I think it made the girls more comfortable. Would you consider coming next week?”

“I would,” she said. “It was actually quite interesting.”

“It won’t save any of them,” he said quickly, “but at least I might not have to watch one of them die from dehydration because they have no idea that plants hold water. And thank you for offering to help with the girls clothes.”

“I was curious why it was so important to you,” she said after a moment. She had no doubt she’d be getting angry questions from angry fathers the next day in church as to why young Crawley wanted their lady daughters cavorting in the woods in hunting breeches.

He shrugged. “I was in the training center with Lavinia the first day and she was so…. Not herself. I mean, you remember her from school, don’t you? Always defending the little children at recess from bullies.”

“She was always shaking her finger at me, as I recall,” Mary said. She had been in Matthew’s grade until he went to the Games, and Lavinia had been a year ahead.

Matthew smiled as he gathered up his papers. “You were a bit of a bossy tyrant, Mary. And Lavinia had never been shy but she was glued to my side that day and when I asked her why… She told me she was embarrassed because she was wearing trousers like a boy. She was so focused on that, I doubt she heard a word any of the instructors said to her. A girl like you, or Sybil, it wouldn’t be a problem, but look at the scullery maid Daisy or your sister’s maid Gwen, or half the little girls from estates where their fathers aren’t as open minded as yours. Better they get it out of their system now than when they’re in the Training Center and need to pay attention.” He took a deep breath. “The trap that I set, that killed Lace from District One? I learned that in the Training Center on the first day. Lavinia was bigger than me. If she had been paying attention that first day, instead of being upset about being seen by men in trousers, she might have lived to the end.”

She had heard that reasoning before, and knew better than to indulge it. “If I hadn’t demanded Papa teach me the quarterstaff, he never would have picked you to partner with me, and you never would have killed Marcello.” Quarterstaff was technically forbidden but it was impossible for the Peacekeepers to police every broom handle and large pole. She had demanded to be taught when she followed her father, Cousin James, and Patrick into the woods one day and saw what they were doing. She realized long after the whole mess that Cousin James had been against her learning, and her father had recruited Matthew as her partner because he wanted to do something helpful for Cousin Reginald who was too old and infirm to do more than walk to and from the medical clinic. It was nicely spiteful to Cousin James as well.

After a moment, he smiled slightly. “I’m lucky your name wasn’t called. I seem to recall always losing to you.”

“I seem to recall you letting me win,” she replied. “I also seem to recall I was taller than you. And you used the foot sweep on Marcello that Papa thought was so clever and that you never used on me.”

“Is your father showing Sybil?” He seemed genuinely curious.

“We both are. You should come.” For more than just because she wanted it. Edith had never found an interest, but Sybil was wickedly good at it. Her father was hard pressed to keep up and Mary could admit that her little sister was better at it. “I know you still do the forms. She could use a bigger, younger practice partner.”

Matthew shook his head. “You know what happens. I can’t take the chance. It was lucky the last time that I didn’t hurt you.”

After a moment, she nodded. It wasn’t luck, he had lost control the one time they had tried practicing staves after returning from the games, but he had stopped himself in time. She suspected he was better, with years to process it, but she wasn’t going to press. “At least come to dinner tonight. You know Papa will have questions about today. And since it’s short notice, and since your mother has so much sewing to do, she won’t be able to make it so you’ll be able to have more than a sip of wine.” It was a joke between them, an old joke. Matthew rarely drank, partly because his mother worried rather openly that he would fall into a liquor barrel and slowly drown himself like Dickie his fellow victor. It also made him more likely to react badly to people touching him, so he was quite careful. On his trips to the Capitol, he had told her that it was quite the joke of the people who favored him with invites to their little parties and gatherings that he was still so naïve and innocent about alcohol that he was childishly easy to get falling down drunk.

“She has reason to worry, you know,” he said after a moment. “Believe me when I tell you, a gathering of victors can usually count on at least a third of the participants being constantly drunk. And good lord, you should see the District Five victors. It really is quite sad.” He hesitated. “Have you talked to Sybil? About the tesserae?”

“I did, and after she got done telling me it was nobody’s business but hers, she said she was using her allowance because she feels terrible that she lives in privilege while the peasants the stock workers go hungry.” She held up her hand before he could protest. “Yes, I told her how stupid she was being and not to talk that way in school. Apparently her secret boyfriend the chauffer agrees with me as well. So maybe she’ll listen.”

“I like him,” Matthew said after a moment. “He fixed Mother’s car when it was being so unpredictable. I assume your father still has no idea?”

Mary waved her hand. “He assumes that once she’s past the Reaping and can start to make real plans, that she’ll come to her senses and do her duty.”

“And marry Larry Grey?” Matthew laughed. “Does she know she has to marry that little wart? Perhaps I will come to dinner and make good my plan to flirt with her, just so she knows how much worse it could be.”

“You will come to dinner, but if you flirt with Sybil, I will get terribly jealous and I will have to challenge you at staves.” She took his hand.

“Then your father would beat me to death for hurting his daughter.”

“Unlikely. Remember, I always was the winner in our battles.”

~*~  


 

 


	4. Chapter four - The Family Title

She carefully snuck out of the house. It was the night before the Reaping and she knew all too well that her mother and father probably weren’t sleeping. She doubted any parent of a child that was between twelve and eighteen was sleeping. Sybil just didn’t want to cause a row. Getting caught in the mechanics barn with Tom in the middle of the night was a row, no matter what night it was, but it would be one hundred times worse the night before the Reaping.

He was waiting by her father’s antique Rolls. People in the Capitol had new sleek cars and so did a few of the lords in District Ten, but her father preferred to keep his grandfather’s fleet in good running order. His face lit up. “I didn’t think you’d get away.”

She took his hand. “I wouldn’t have missed it. It might be our last opportunity to talk.” The odds were good though. Tom was nineteen and safe, and her name was only in five times. “I hate this. It’s not right.”

“You’ll be fine,” Tom said as he pulled her into a hug. “Your name is hardly in there.”

“I’m from a victor family,” she reminded him. “They like to pick family.” God knows that had been pounded into her head since she was old enough to remember, that and the fact that her father and aunt hadn’t been chosen. “Although… now that I think about it, technically all of our victors are volunteers.”

“Well, don’t you be raising your hand tomorrow,” Tom said. His lilting accent was stronger than normal. He was like Gwen, from a stock worker’s family and lucky to have gotten an estate job. The stock workers all had the accent, the same lilt to their speech. “I hate this. It’s two years before you’ll be safe.”

“I know,” Sybil said. “At least we’re both the youngest in our familes. Edith and Mary were in rare solidarity this evening, telling me not to worry.” She laughed suddenly. “And Cousin Matthew was there and oh Tom, he can’t hold his liquor at all and Cousin Isobel was practically daring him to outdrink Papa. Then she and Granny tried to outdrink Papa. They all ended staying for the night.”

“That does explain why I didn’t have to drive anyone home,” Tom said with a laugh. “Things were a bit quieter in the servants hall. There was cake for everyone who has to go tomorrow, and Carson made a speech about the honor of Downton and how if the unimaginable happened, that he expected even a junior member of the staff to not cry at the hand they were dealt.”

Sybil laughed. “How awful… you’re going to certain death and you still have to worry that you’re representing the Earl of Grantham.” She waited a long moment. “We should kiss, tonight. For luck.”

“No,” Tom said firmly. “I won’t prove your father’s opinion of me by sneaking kisses before you’re of age.”

She knew how he worried about it. There would be a row when the time came but that was two years off. They couldn’t marry until she was eighteen and her father wasn’t going to be happy at her choice, and Tom didn’t want to make it worse by not being a gentleman. “A hug then. For luck.”

~*~

She brushed her dress off as she waited by the main entrance to the town square. She was waiting for Gwen and the other servants from Downton. It irritated her father, but she and Gwen had always stood by each other for luck, ever since they were twelve. It was a shock when the servant children were dropped off and Gwen limped over, on a pair of crutches. “Gwen, what happened?”

Gwen tried to smile but it was obvious she was close to tears. “It was so stupid, Lady Sybil. One of the hall boys bumped into Mr. Bates and he knocked over a boiling pot for tea upstairs and it burned my foot. Mrs. Hughes dressed it but I’ll need to see the doctor after…”

“I’ll ask Papa to have you driven there,” Sybil said reassuringly. Gwen did take tessera but there were a lot of children that did, with more brothers and sisters than Gwen. “We had better get in to the culling pen before the Peacekeepers go looking.” The culling pens were used to separate the good breeding animals from the ones that would end up on a dinner plate, and it was the District 10 term for the herding of teenagers into the main square for the Reaping. She bit back a curse at herself. She had called for tea that morning and never even thought about what could go wrong downstairs.

She personally hated the ceremony more each year. Being forced to stand there as they played the same propaganda film, and as the silly envoy from the Capitol made it sound like whoever was chosen was getting some sort of special treat and not a death sentence. It was at least funny to watch Hodges get up and start asking the Capitol woman for a date. The other three victors watched with amusement. Mary said it was a surprise to all three remaining victors that Hodges was still alive. He wasn’t going to the Capitol, her grandmother said it was more embarrassing for the Capital to insist he come when it was increasingly clear the poor man had no idea where he was at any given moment. Once Hodges was led off, the ceremony resumed. Finally they got to the drawing of the names.

“Ladies first!” singsonged Portia Masters, the gaudy Capitol envoy shouted. Her neon blue hair and radical skin tight dress made her look almost silly, and Sybil wondered suddenly if that was intentional. Bad enough to get a death sentence but worse to get that sentence from someone who looked and acted like a poorly dressed halfwit. The woman dug into the names and pulled one out. She looked at it and then tapped the microphone. “Gwen Dawson!”

Besides her, Gwen choked and bit her lip. “All right,” she said softly. “Sybil, you have to let go of my hand. They called my name. They called my name… and I have to be brave.”

Sybil let go of her hand and watched Gwen limp out of the crowd. It wasn’t fair, she thought numbly, it wasn’t fair at all. Gwen helped support her brothers and sisters and she could barely walk. And who dies first in the Games? It was the first lesson Matthew had taught them. The slow die first. And I’m not slow, not at all.

She darted out to the cleared walkway and raised her hand. “I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute!”

And even the silly Capitol envoy gasped. 

~*~

She remembered the room. She remembered the waiting area outside the room more, because the last time she had been there, she and Edith had waited with her mother while everyone else went first because they didn’t really know how much time a tribute was allowed to say goodbye. Her mother had made them wait because Matthew’s parents deserved the most time, and Mary was Matthew’s “special friend” as her mother had called it.

It was her mother and father first. It was obvious that her father had been crying, she had only seen it once before, when her mother had miscarried her last pregnancy. They were both trying very hard to not yell at her, she could see that. 

“Sybil,” her mother started, her voice choked up. “We told you… We told you not to do something so foolish.”

“Mama, I had to. Gwen burned her foot this morning fetching me tea. There’s no way she could compete…” Even as she said it, she realized just how stupid she sounded. Gwen couldn’t compete, but she was hardly a Career tribute volunteering to take Gwen’s place. Which meant she was probably going to die in the next few weeks. “I’m sorry… I wasn’t thinking.”

Her father shook his head. “You were thinking with your heart and not your head.” He pulled her into his arms. “Don’t be sorry. I’m not angry.” His voice shook. “I can’t fault you for having a kind heart. Don’t worry about Gwen, I’ll make sure she goes to the doctor, and no one will be unkind to her. But you have to promise me something, Sybil. You are coming back to your family. There’s nothing you can do, ever, that would change our love for you. There’s nothing you could do that would make us despise you, so use your head and your heart to come back home. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Papa,” she said, the words feeling odd as they came out. Then it was a flurry of people, Gwen and her parents all crying, Mary admonishing her for being so stupid and repeating what her father said, only more bluntly noting that she didn’t care how many tributes had their eyes gouged out, as long as she came back, Edith telling her to be strong, a group of the servants wishing her well, friends from school with tears in their eyes… And then Tom.

He hugged her and for the longest moment, all they did was hold each other. “I’m sorry,” she said.

“You better be sorry,” Tom said. “What did I tell you last night? Not to raise your hand. You’re so contrary…. It makes me worry what you’ll do when I give you this.” He held out a ring. “Will you marry me, Sybil?”

It was the best moment of her life intertwined with the worst. “Oh Tom… yes….”

He slid the ring on to her finger, and then kissed her hand like a courtier. “So now you have to come back. I can’t kiss you like a husband until you come back, and I can’t marry you until you come back. So come back.”

~*~

She didn’t realize until she was on the train, sitting in a fancy chair, that she knew the male tribute. “Aren’t you William Mason, the new footman?” He nodded, and she felt a hundred times worse. She didn’t know him well, Gwen thought he was sweet but shy and he apparently had an unrequited crush on Daisy, the assistant cook. He was as fair as Mary on a good day, District Ten was known for the ice white complexions coupled with dark hair. From what she knew from Gwen, his mother had died a few months ago.

“Are we supposed to do something, milady?” he asked after a moment. 

“I don’t think so,” she said after a long moment. She looked around the train car. It was incredibly plush, like her home except that it was so oddly different. She had seen the way the Capitol styled itself, the school sometimes showed them documentaries. It was both more brightly garish and sleeker. The train car seemed to be some sort of lounge area, with soft leather chairs and couches set up for conversation, with tables near a built in bar. “It seems strange that they left us alone...”

Almost like magic, a servant came in with an enormous tray of sandwiches, pastries, and drinks. The woman set the tray down and left before either of them could ask a question. Then Matthew walked in, still wearing his Capitol styled suit. He looked at them, and then at the tray of food, and sighed. He also looked hung over from the night before, and Sybil was surprised that he went right to the bar. He poured himself a glass of scotch. “The food is for you two. Dinner isn’t for a few hours, and Clodia assumes you’re starving field workers who had scraps of bread for breakfast.”

His snide tone irritated her. “You shouldn’t mock. Papa says its brutal how some of the lords treat their tenants.” And being one of her father’s tenants was hardly idyllic. The amount of food sitting on the tray would feed Gwen or Tom’s family for days, and they were tenants at Downton. The tributes from years past had sometimes been painfully thin. “I’m sure there’s been many tributes who wouldn’t have waited to be invited.”

“Oh Sybil…” Matthew rolled his eyes at her. “I assure you, I am well aware of how hungry some of our past tributes have been. And just because neither of you are half starved waifs from Lord Sitterly’s nightmare of an estate, that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t eat. The best thing the both of you can do right now is eat.” He picked up a pastry and bit into it. “Trust me, all the food will be excellent. Would either of you like a scotch?”

William shook his head but took up the hint to have a sandwich. Sybil found herself suddenly angry with both of them. “Where is Granny? And why are you drinking scotch so early?” It was strange.

Matthew gave her a dark look as he sipped his drink. “Your grandmother is composing herself, because this morning’s events were quite upsetting to her, as I think you can imagine. As for why I am having a drink? I’m celebrating.”

“Celebrating?” Matthew had his moments of viciousness but that was a bit much, even for him.

He smiled thinly. “I’m no longer the stupidest member of the Crawley family. Congratulations.” He took a long drink. “Of course, the family title will fall back to me in a week or two, so I have to enjoy myself while I can.”

Sybil realized how difficult it was to argue with either of his points.


	5. The Awkward Train Ride

It was always painfully awkward, the first meal on the train with the tributes. It was both better and worse that she knew both of them. Sybil was family. It was the thing she had feared, her own child or grandchild put to the games. She could admit, the day of the last Reaping Robert had been eligible for, she had gone home and wept from relief for hours. She hated herself for the relief she had felt when Mary and then Edith slipped over the eligible age. She could admit, although it ultimately turned out much worse than anyone expected, that she had been relieved that Matthew the distant cousin she had rarely even seen had volunteered for Patrick, sparing her the task of mentoring a child she knew. She could even admit that moment of pure relief when Gwen Dawson’s name was called. And then Sybil had done the stupidest thing possible.

Made worse that she knew and liked the male tribute, William Mason. He was a nice boy, the only remaining son of a family that had been loyal to the Crawleys for years. The very fact that Sybil was a volunteer from an outlying district, and pretty like a picture, meant that she was already at an advantage for sponsors. That she was the third member of the Crawley family to volunteer meant that all eyes would be on her. The final factor was that while Robert would never endanger Downton’s survival for the rest of the family, he would throw every spare cent he could to provide Sybil with help. William, an otherwise favorable candidate, well fed, good looking and with his full growth, was already regulated to losing status. He was bright enough to know it too, and too intimidated by the situation to do more than look sad at his uneaten plate.

“William,” she said firmly, “you will finish your meal. So will you Sybil.” She eyed Dickie, who was clutching a lamb chop in his good hand, happily stuffing his face. “Richard, you’re rarely an example but thank you for showing our new tributes that there’s no reason to starve themselves.” She gave Matthew a dark look as he pushed his meal around on his plate. It was difficult for all of them, but worse for Matthew because he was still a favorite among the Capitol elite. Especially worse this year because she intended to ask him to call in every favor he could. “Matthew, your mother made me promise her that this year you wouldn’t return home as thin as a rail.” Isobel made her promise that every year, and she doubted she would succeed for the first time the year Sybil was a tribute, but if she didn’t at least try, then Isobel would know she was lying. And she had no intention of giving Isobel any ammunition.

“Let’s see, you’re not my mother, while encouraging our dear tributes to have lunch, I managed to eat two sandwiches and several pastries, and let’s not forget the calories in this glass of scotch,” Matthew said, using a sharp tone. “But in the spirit of cooperation, perhaps you didn’t hear Clodia regaling me with how she had arranged for the cooks to make one of my favorites for dessert.” He eyed William and Sybil. “The Capitol has a delightful cake called black forest cake. You’ll want to save some room for it.”

“Oh that is good,” Dickie muttered. He picked up another chop.

Sybil frowned at him. “You’re drunk, Matthew.”

He smirked at her. “I’m sorry, did the stupidest member of the Crawley family say something judgmental about something she knows nothing about?”

“I know you’re drunk,” she shot back. “And you can stop calling me stupid, you’ve made your point.”

“I doubt that very much,” Matthew said.

“And you both must try the cake,” Clodia chimed in, taking great pains to include William. The Capitol escort was better at the job than her predecessors, Violet though, and took pains to provide hospitality. It was kind of her to remember their preferences. Fresh cut flowers in her room on the train, Dickie’s fresh clothes tailored for his ever increasing weight and his missing left hand, and Matthew’s preferred foods. Clodia, more than many Capitol envoys, understood that part of her job was keeping the mentors as relaxed as possible. Violet liked to be surrounded by flowers, because they reminded her of the home she wanted to return to. Dickie was the child of impoverished farming tenants and despite his girth and drunkenness, he still took a great deal of pride in wearing suits that were as nice as any lord’s. Matthew wasn’t a picky eater when home, but being in the Capitol stressed him to where he barely ate or slept. But he could usually be plied with sweets when all else failed, and Clodia kept his favorites available. With Hodges, she had made sure that there was always music available and playing in the background. Hodges loved music

And I must be getting old, Violet thought suddenly, because I never thought I’d make this journey without Hodges, who was a good ten years younger.

Clodia stood up as the servants cleared the plates and turned on the television. “They’ll be reporting the Reaping in all the districts. You can see the competition. Then we can have cake and talk about how exciting tomorrow will be.”

Sybil and William dutifully turned their head. Violet found herself watching with interest for the first time in a long time. Matthew was paying attention as well, but that wasn’t a surprise. He was still young enough to think it mattered. After seeing the Reaping so many times, she knew her initial impressions meant little. Of the three victors she had mentored, she had only thought Dickie had a chance of winning, and the few times she had thought someone likely to win, they inevitably lost. It was much as she expected. Districts One and Two had well fed, well trained eighteen year old volunteers. District Four’s tributes were similar, although she had learned their training schools weren’t as strict. District Three’s tributes were both twelve, a horror show for that district. Weedy, poorly grown teens for most of the other districts, with Nine, Eleven, and Twelve each providing a tribute that looked big enough to at least put up a fight. The coverage focused on District Ten, of course, got the lion share of the coverage. Sybil would get sponsors due to her name, Violet knew that. The Capitol loved the romantic notion of a family producing a ‘dynasty’ of victors. They also loved the exoticness of the peer system and how quaint they thought the manners of decent people were. Sybil would also get sponsors because she was a pretty girl and would shine over the other female tributes. She glanced at the girl worriedly as the newscaster nattered on. The problem was that Mary was the grandchild with the streak of hardness, the one that would do what needed to be done and not look back or feel deep regrets. Matthew had some of the streak of hardness too, he might twinge at watching himself do terrible things, but she had the sense that he had made peace with the killings. His goal had been to return to his parents and make sure his father was well. It was the betrayal that had damaged him. That, and his age. The rare younger tributes that won didn’t last long into adulthood. Sybil was older, closer to 17 than 16. The problem was that as far as Violet knew, Sybil was like her mother, and Cora was a bit of a bubbly headed optimist. Sybil had volunteered for her friend because she thought it wasn’t fair that her friend would die. It wouldn’t be much to grab onto when things got terrible in the arena.

It certainly wasn’t going to help her after, if Sybil had an after.

The newscaster ended with a round up of what victors would be in missing the Games. One of the District Five victors was very ill, and that was what poor Hodges was called as well, with appropriate sad looks to indicate it was unlikely the man would live. Then a surprise:

“And with sadness, I must report that Diamond, of District Two, has died of an undisclosed illness.” Diamond had been all of 21, and a Career tribute, with the body that even an old woman like herself could at least appreciate. He had won four years earlier, and had been increasingly popular with the high society of the Capitol.

“What a shame,” she said carefully. ‘An undisclosed illness’ was code in the Capitol for something unpleasant but she hadn’t heard any rumors surrounding him. More coldly, it was an advantage. It meant Matthew would be in more demand and could choose who he spent time with more strategically. But it was also awkward since Matthew and Diamond had seemed quite friendly with each other.

“Perhaps the tributes should go to bed and rest up for tomorrow,” Matthew said.

“Are you sending us to bed?” Sybil snapped.

Matthew glared at her. “Sybil, you can do whatever you like. Except leave this train. Which makes you and I different because while it might create a stir, the Peacekeepers aren’t going to look that hard for me if I get it into my head to walk back to District Ten. You, they would drag back in chains. Now, if you want to spend all night awake, watching Capitol television or musing on how unkind I am, go ahead. But, we get to the Capitol tomorrow, and you will be spending hours with a prep team getting you costumed and prettied up for the hours long parade ceremony tomorrow night. You don’t get to decline to attend, and I can tell you from experience, its tiring even if you’re well rested. I’m not your father. Do what you like.”

Sybil looked like she wanted to say something dreadful back, and then glanced at William, who had been looking increasingly awkward at witnessing people he knew as his employers snipping at each other without any concern that he was there. “Come on, William, we’ve been given orders. Perhaps we should order ice cream for bed. Since we’re the guests of honor here.”

The teenagers left, and Dickie hoisted himself up. “Ice cream for bed sounds good,” he muttered. “I think I’ll turn in unless we need to talk… I assumed we were going to handle it like last year? You two taking one each and me as the go-between?”

“I think so,” Violet said. “My sense is that you may need to take a more active role early on. You know the Capitol loves to see the child of a victor as tribute, a volunteer from an outlying district, and the child of a peer, and this year we have all three.”

“I don’t envy you,” Dickie said quietly. He tapped his massive stomach. “I’ll pull my weight for a change, milady. You can count on that.”

She was surprised at how much that touched her. “Thank you, Richard.” She waited until he left the train car to ask Matthew the question that had been troubling her. “What do you think happened to Diamond?”

He shook his head as he got up and walked to the bar. He poured himself another glass and one for her as well, and handed it to her before he sat down again. He stared at his glass. “I’m sure it was suicide. He was unhappy. He understood that he was going to be taking my place as the pet victor at the parties. His fellow victors were hardly helpful. Half of them were jealous at the attention he was receiving, and the rest didn’t understand why he didn’t like being highly sought after. He saw the handwriting on the wall that I was getting older and I’d always been rather far away from the Capitol and he was younger and closer and easier to bring in for parties. And… he liked men, and you know that’s not popular in the Capitol.”

“Yes.” It wasn’t popular in District Ten either, but considering how many men in the Capitol struck her as effete, it was an issue that still surprised her. “This does present us with an advantage…” Her voice trailed off. Matthew had done it before, but she hadn’t so pointedly asked before.

He shrugged and took a long drink. “I already have an invite to Junia Camilla’s welcome to the Games party tomorrow night. She called this morning to ask. I’ll be sure to look for sponsors and more invites.” He paused. “I know we usually take the opposite sex, but I’d prefer to mentor William.”

“No.” She knew in her bones it was the right decision. “You may not realize this, but Sybil listens to you far more than she will listen to me. She wants your approval and you’re not giving it, and that means she’ll pay more attention. And William… William needs the reassurance that he’s not being thrown aside as a sacrifice to save Sybil.”

“But he will be.” Matthew said it simply. After a long moment, she nodded. He frowned darkly. “I can’t accept that, not wholeheartedly. I will do everything I can to get more information, anything that will give Sybil an advantage, but William has to benefit from that information as well.”

“Oh Matthew, why do you insist on making this difficult?” she asked.

“First, because I need to be able to look at myself in the mirror after these games. Both of our tributes deserve any help we can give them. William is good looking enough that he might attract some sponsors, but you and I both know Sybil will get the attention and the gifts simply because she’s a Crawley of the victor line. Whatever minor advantage I get, William deserves it as much as Sybil if only because he’s already getting so much less. We both know it, even he knows it.” Matthew leaned back in the lounge chair and sipped his drink. “Second, I don’t pretend to know Sybil that well, but if she wins this, she is going to ask if we gave William a fair chance to win. I need to be able to say we didn’t leave him to the wolves, and she’ll never forgive herself if she thinks we sacrificed him for her.” He smiled slightly. “And do remember, Cousin Violet, if she wins, it will be her and I stuck on this yearly trip for the next thirty to fifty years. It would be nice if we weren’t at each other’s throats from the beginning. And we will be if she thinks we intentionally helped her more than William, whose only crime is not being born to our family.”

It gave her pause. She knew Matthew was clever, he’d be dead several times over if he wasn’t, but he had never really been clever about people. Yet he was certainly right. Sybil would ask, and would know if they lied, and would never be able to forgive herself. She was a silly girl to volunteer to save a friend, but she was an honorable silly girl. That meant Matthew was right. It also meant that Matthew thought she had a chance of winning, which meant she was doubly right in insisting that he mentor her. “They both might die in the fight at the Cornucopia.”

It had even occurred to her that a quick death at the start might spare everyone a lot of pain.

Matthew sighed. “That is certainly true. And since I will be attending an all night party tomorrow, I think I will attempt to get some rest.” He grabbed the bottle of scotch.

“If you are taking that to sleep,” she said quickly, “you needn’t. Your mother gave me some sleeping pills. You can have one.” She rarely needed them at home, time had chased the worst of the nightmares away, but her male victor counterparts weren’t so lucky. Isobel Crawley had been an irritating and often infuriating addition to the neighborhood of Victors Village at the start, but she had learned to appreciate Matthew’s mother. It was Isobel who had organized the nurses for Hodges, and who at least tried to dry Dickie out and get him on a sensible diet. And it was Isobel who agonized over her teenage son raging and behaving as though he had fallen into a dark chasm and couldn’t get out. Isobel knew how difficult the trip would be, and had stuffed the bottle into her purse with the admonishment to dole them out sparingly.

Matthew sighed again. “I imagine she gave you strict orders to not give them to me all at once. I am a terrible son to her.”

“She said nothing of the sort.” Which was true. That particular order was on the handwritten note inside the pill jar. “She worries, because she is a mother. When you become a father, you’ll understand.”

It was the wrong thing to say. He scowled at her. “If this rotten business has taught me anything, it is that I can’t bring a child into this world. I don’t know how you can bear it. You’re much stronger than I.” With that he strode out of the train car.

Which was good, because it wasn’t seemingly to sob into her handkerchief in front of a young man.


	6. Chapter Six - Early Morning Revelations and Not a New Friend

She awoke early. Too early, it was still dark. Sybil looked at the digital clock and frowned. It was only 4:30am and she knew she wasn’t getting back to sleep. She dressed in the training clothes that the eerily silent servant brought her the night before. She had tried to press the girl to say her name or anything but had given up when it was clear she was just upsetting the poor thing. They were probably under orders to not speak to the tributes, she figured.

The training uniforms were form fitting and comfortable, just completely different from the frocks and corsets she’d been kept in all of her life. She felt almost naked despite knowing she was decently attired for most Districts tastes. The lights of the Capitol blazed through the windows. It was so strange to see so many lights on at a time that very late at night or very early morning. Even the house staff would still be in bed, she mused as she stepped out into the lavish living area that the District Ten entourage was assigned. Some of the cattle workers would be up, milking the dairy herds, but in District Ten, we would all be asleep. And here in the Capitol… it’s as if the sun never sets. She continued watching the city beneath move until she heard the elevator chime and the door open.

Matthew stepped out of the elevator, wearing the sharp Capitol styled suit he had changed into for the parade. His tie was undone and his shirt partly unbuttoned, and he looked tired. He also looked quite surprised to see her. “Sybil, you should be in bed.”

“So should you,” she said after a moment. In fact she had assumed he had gone to bed after bringing them back from the tribute parade. “I woke up and knew I couldn’t go back to sleep. Where were you?”

“I was out,” he said as he walked over to her. She sniffed the air around him and wrinkled her nose. He smelled like cigar smoke and alcohol.

“You look and smell like you’ve been at a party,” she said, feeling her temper rise.

For a wonder, he looked embarrassed instead of anger. Then he sighed heavily and took off his jacket. “I was at a party. It’s not uncommon for victors to be invited to pre-games parties.”

It infuriated her. She didn’t understand why Mary had latched onto him, but love went where it went, it couldn’t be predicted. What enraged her was the idea that Mary was waiting patiently for him for come around, turning down suitors and offers that were far better than what Edith or she would see, and he was… running off almost as soon as he could to prance about with his Capitol friends. He was even called to the Capitol for parties and to attend special events, and she knew Mary agonized over it. “How can you do this to Mary? I thought you cared about her.”

For an instant his eyes blazed, and she suddenly remembered all the stories she’d heard about him being crazy and violent. It left him almost as quickly as it appeared. He eyed her tiredly and then looked out the panoramic window. “The view is nice here, but it’s truly spectacular up on the roof. There’s a garden there as well. Come with me and I’ll show you.” His tone was calm but she had the distinct impression that he wasn’t going to tolerate any disobedience. She followed him into the fancy elevator. There was no reason to be afraid. Matthew would be the one in trouble if he’d gotten it into his head to strike her.

She also couldn’t deny that the view of the city from the roof top garden was as spectacular as promised. She could just see the sky beginning to pink up in the east. “It is lovely, in its way.” She turned back to him. “If you brought me here to call me stupid some more, you’ve already made your point, repeatedly.”

“No, Sybil, I brought you up here because between the wind, the chimes in the garden, and the noise from the street, the many people who are monitoring our every word in our quarters can’t hear us.” He ran his hand through his hair, as if he was intensely frustrated and at a complete loss as to what to say. “These people aren’t playing, Sybil. You are here to be killed. If you live, you will always be on their radar, and they will always be able to hurt you.”

“What does that mean,” she asked, feeling suddenly cold.

“I don’t get a choice, for the most part, on accepting invitations to parties at the Capitol.” She saw him flush from embarrassment. “They find me quite droll, the elite at the Capitol, I have the classic Capitol look and the District Ten accent they find so quaintly amusing. It’s humiliating, because I can’t say no.”

“Why can’t you say no?” Sybil asked. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer.

He shrugged. “They’ll kill my mother. Once she’s dead, they’ll use anyone I seem close to. So you need to shut up about Mary. Mary knows all of this, and I have told her repeatedly to stop waiting for me because I won’t change my mind. I can’t change my mind because it puts her in danger. You can’t avoid talking about Gwen, because you volunteered for her, and your family, but there’s an extremely good chance that you’ll be dead in five days, and I won’t, and linking your sister to me just makes her a target. And if you care at all about the young chauffeur you’ve been secretly dating, you won’t say a word about him.”

“He asked me to marry him,” she said. She didn’t know why she was telling Matthew, of all people, except that he had just shared a much larger secret.

“Then,” Matthew said, his voice suddenly shaky, “you have a reason to win. It’s easier if you have a reason to win.”

“I’m sorry,” Sybil said after a long moment. “I made a terrible assumption, that you were just being a callous cad.”

Matthew chuckled. “After the evening I’ve had, that’s actually amusing. As it happens, there are some advantages to being a favorite of the elite and invited to the pre-Games party held by the Arena Designer and his lovely wife who finds my eyes so delightfully blue. Between all the jokes and name dropping, I have some suggestions for where you and William will want to focus in training. You can swim, right?”

“Yes…” She let that sink in. “You know what the arena will be like?” That was a huge advantage and she wondered suddenly just how pleasant and friendly he had to be to get people from the Capitol to tell him secrets. God knew he was rarely ever pleasant at home, although Mary always called him charming.

“I have some hints, let’s say.”

~*~

If she wasn’t worried sick about Sybil herself, she would have found it amusing to watch her father pace around the library, while ranting at poor Cousin Isobel. It was amusing in that she didn’t realize until her absence just how much her grandmother kept certain people in check. Her father for starters was usually chided into lowering his voice as soon as he edged into bellowing range. And Violet knew when to start distracting Isobel from whatever point she had decided to sink her teeth into. Mary knew that she and her mother, who was distraught, were a poor substitute.

“They dressed her up like a bejeweled cowherd! And William like a lord of the manor! What was going through Matthew’s head?” Robert shouted at Isobel.

Isobel seemed to catch herself before she spoke. “Robert, the mentors have no control over how the tributes are presented. That’s all done by the stylists. Matthew isn’t even allowed to pick what suit he wears, you know that. For heaven’s sake, they do this every time they get a tribute from one of the landholder family. I seem to recall Matthew dressed in some Capitol idiot’s idea of a footman’s uniform, and poor Lavinia was in some sort of cowherd get up… No one is going to judge Sybil poorly over it. Or William for that matter. That poor boy was obviously embarrassed.” Mary could see Isobel’s temper rising. “This… unpleasant presentation is not Matthew’s fault, any more than it is your mother’s fault and don’t think I don’t notice how you don’t point fingers at your mother, so stop pointing them at my son.”

For a wonder, that stopped her father in his tracks. Robert shook his head and then sat down next to her mother. “I’m sorry, Isobel. I’m just…”

Isobel nodded. “You’re just terrified because your child has done something incredibly foolish for all the right reasons, and that kindness of spirit could get her killed. Believe me, I understand what you and Cora are going through.” She sighed. “I’m afraid I don’t have much advice to give you except this. She’s not in the Arena yet, right now she’s in the safest place in Panem, the Training Center. No one is allowed to so much as raise their hand to her, and Matthew has always said that the quarters at the Training Center are lavish, the lap of luxury. Right now, she is perfectly safe.”

“But not for long...” Cora said. Her voice cracked just a little. “I’m so worried. Isobel, I don’t know how you stood it.”

“Perhaps,” Mary said, hoping to stave off the inevitable tears, “we should talk about the sponsorships. Anna told me that the servants are passing the hat amongst themselves and that they want to give it to you, Papa, and have it split between William and Sybil.” The passing of the hat wasn’t finished, but she was already surprised at how much was gathered. Anna had told her that even Thomas the footman, who generally spent his time bedeviling young William, had given her a substantial sum, from his savings, no doubt, with the request that no one was to know he gave it. Thomas wasn’t the only one among the staff to give. It was a testament to both William and Sybil.

She could see her father was genuinely touched. “They shouldn’t have, Mary. I will double that money and I will personally thank everyone that contributed.” He seemed to shake off some of his worry, much as she expected. Being reminded of his other duties always brought her father back to his senses. “I’ve neglected my duty to William’s family. He just has the father now?”

Mary nodded. “You haven’t neglected it at all. I knew you and Mama were upset and Edith and I saw to it. I spoke with Carson as soon as the train left and there’s been someone at Mr. Mason’s home to see to him. I believe young Daisy is there right now, and you’ve invited him to join us for dinner for when the scores are announced and when the interviews are done. You’ve also generously offered to have someone available to him for the duration and a giant basket of food was delivered. Most of which he’s feeding to the various people coming to visit him. He made Anna and I delicious bacon and tomato sandwiches.” It was probably the first thing she’d eaten since Sybil had been so foolish as to volunteer, and kind Mr. Mason had chided and Anna both for worrying about him and not taking care of themselves. “He’s a very nice man, Papa, and he said not to go to any trouble.”

Which was pointless to even suggest. One thing her parents prided themselves on was taking care of the family of anyone chosen by the Games that was connected to the estate. It fortunately didn’t happen often, the most recent five years earlier, a boy that worked under the head gardener. Before that, it had been Matthew, a bit of a special circumstance in that he was family, but her parents believed in at least trying to be helpful to their tenants. She was right to mention it though. She could see both of her parents shake off their worry.

“No, “Cora said, her tone forced but lighter, “of course we must call on Mr. Mason and invite him directly. And we should check on Gwen and her family, to make sure they know we’re not upset with Gwen. But it was good of you, Mary, and of Edith, to take the responsibility on. You’re such good girls…” Then her mother began to sob.

Mary wasn’t sure what was worse, watching the Games, or watching her parents dread the Games.

~*~

Lunch at the Training Center was odd. The food was good, unlike some of the tributes, she knew what most of the fancier dishes were. Things like shrimp and oysters were expensive rarities but she had tasted them more than once or twice growing up. She took her grandmother’s advice, advice that Matthew and even Dickie agreed with. In fact, she was coming to understand that Dickie McKendrick, when he wasn’t drunk, was a fairly clever man. Your granny is right, he had said pointedly that morning as he slopped syrup all over his waffles. Eat rich tonight after work, but at the training table eat simple and don’t get all mannered up. She understood his point. Any number of the tributes were clearly indulging their curiosity in trying the rich treats and she had a feeling some of them would regret it later at the more active training stations. She filled her plate with the theoretically duller rice and vegetable dish that someone said was from District Four, a ham and cheese sandwich, and some fruit. William went with mashed potatoes and chicken pot pie, heavy but a fairly typical meal in the servants’ hall. They were being watched, and not just by the Games specialists. Just by the smirks on their faces, she was certain the tributes from District One, Two, and Four, were already betting on who would throw up their lunch.

She also noticed they were following similar advice. No rich treats on their plates, just nourishing basic foods. They all sat together and she had heard most of them make snotty or threatening remarks to the other tributes. She didn’t understand why they were so mean about it. She didn’t pretend to think she could take out the shocking powerful looking girl from District Nine, but she was certain that in a straight fight, she could defeat the little girl and boy from District Three. That didn’t mean it was polite or decent to taunt the two doomed children.

Aside from the Careers, everyone sat by District. In a different setting it would have bothered her. She’d never met anyone who wasn’t from District Ten or from the Capitol. Her father hosted investors from the Capitol on occasion, and she had been allowed to attend. The Peacekeepers were from District Two but aside from polite nods, she wasn’t allowed to talk to them. She knew just from the foods the tributes picked, that they were different from her, and she wanted to ask so many questions but knew better than to reach out. Matthew had been blunt on the point to both of them, and neither her grandmother nor Dickie had disagreed. The other tributes weren’t there to make friends and would consider most overtures weakness or an attempt to create an alliance. She wasn’t sure she wanted to make friends with anyone that she’d have to kill. It was bad enough she knew William and worse that everyone in her home quite liked William.

He took the seat across from her at the small table. “How was the water and food station?” They had split up that morning after Matthew had taken them up to the rooftop garden and told them what he knew about the arena. It wasn’t a lot, even the wife of the Games Designer had to be careful, but it gave them some areas to focus. Water wouldn’t be difficult to find… but clean drinking water would be. Knowing how to fish and what plants in water environments could be eaten would be important. There would be danger in the form of large predators. Infection was probably going to be a bigger issue than normal and the game master was already well pleased that none of the tributes would find it familiar. Weapons would be available but Games Master Marius Camilla felt the audience was tired of seeing a District One Career tribute grabbing a sword and slashing to victory, and it had been a few years since a non Career tribute had won. It gave her a little hope. They didn’t want to reveal a strategy by doing everything together, so she had gone to the water and food station that morning while William had gone to the traps and improvised weapons station. They were focusing on survival skills first. Her father had secretly taught her quarterstaff and she planned to show that off to the judges in the private assessment. She wasn’t sure what William planned to do, he’d been very quiet. She wasn’t sure if that was a strategy, or if that he just felt terribly awkward.

“The instructor is very clever and will walk you through a lot of things. I know we talked about it in hedge school but I didn’t know so many weeds were edible.” And she was beginning to feel guilty about how she hadn’t really taken the hedge school classes seriously. “How was traps and improvised weapons?”

William shrugged. “There’s a lot to learn. The instructor just about talked my ear off on how Mr. Crawley used this trick and that trick and showed how anybody can win. The two little ones from Three lapped it up.” He picked at his food pensively. “It’s been a while since I watched the vids but I don’t think Mr. Crawley was that small in his games.”

“He wasn’t. He was just a little smaller than me.” Edith had said it, and Mary had agreed. They had been trying to encourage her. “He just looked very young and boyish, and the luck of the draw made him the youngest.” And it reminded her of something else Edith had said, that Matthew won because he was clever, and that everyone knew that Sybil was as clever.

“Watch out,” William said suddenly. “The Careers are getting up and they’re coming over here.” She didn’t understand why. William wasn’t the worst tribute in the field and neither was she, but they were hardly front runners.

The leader was apparently the female from District One, a tall brunette who exuded sexuality. Her name was Sapphire, and she sneered at Sybil, making it clear who her target was. “Look what we have here, the legacy tribute.”

“Legacy?” She knew the word of course, she just didn’t understand where the girl was going. “I’m afraid I don’t understand your meaning.” Who knew all the lessons in manners would help here, she mused.

Sapphire was certainly taken back. She frowned darkly. “Oh, I forgot, you’re from District Ten where everyone pretends they’re better than everyone else. Didn’t I hear that he,” and she pointed to William, “is one of your servants, milady?” She twisted the last word to a close approximation of a District Ten accent. “If he wins, does he still have to call your father his lord and master and wait tables for him?”

“No,” Sybil said, feeling her temper rise. “If William wins, he’ll live in the Victors Village and only work if he wishes. And he won’t have to call anyone lord or lady. The most recent victor is well known for telling any lord or lady that crosses him to go to hell.” For a surprise, William laughed and nodded with her.

Sapphire found nothing funny about it. “You think you’re special, don’t you, Lady Crawley? They say your family is building a legacy of volunteer victors. You know what I think?”

What would Mary say, Sybil asked herself. She smiled at the girl. “Do tell. I mean, I think we’re all quite amazed to discover that you can think at all.”

The dinner tables erupted with giggles and laughs. Even the other Careers smirked at Sapphire’s dismay. She glared at Sybil and just for an instant, Sybil wondered if she would ignore the rules and leap at her. Then the constantly present guards seemed to swirl out of hiding. Sapphire glared fiercely at Sybil.

“I think,” Sapphire hissed, “that your family legacy will be broken within seconds of the Games. In fact, I think I’m gonna make you my special project.”

“Well, everyone needs a hobby,” Sybil agreed cheerfully, and there was another peal of laughter. Sapphire stomped away, followed by the other Careers. She’s an enemy, Sybil thought, but the truth is that everyone in the room is an enemy. Which made it all much less amusing.

 

 

 


	7. What Violet Did and The Unpleasant Realities

The tributes were quiet when they returned from the final assessments. Matthew wasn’t surprised. It was getting close to where it all got very real. His own memories of the Training Center were unpleasant but not horrifying. The Careers all mocked him when they weren’t mocking the tributes who looked half starved. After eight years of participating in, or mentoring the Games, he knew that one distinct advantage both William and Sybil had was that along with being close to full grown, they had a healthy look to them. That marked them in the upper half of the tributes just on appearance. The Careers were always fit and the girl from Nine, if she wasn’t slowwitted, looked to be a contender. The rest though had that ill fed, too thin look that meant they were used to going hungry. That experience had its place but the tributes who were rack thin and pale from lifelong malnourishment didn’t fare well. District Ten wasn’t known for fielding winners, but both Sybil and William were getting a lot of talk. Sybil of course was a legacy tribute. Not in the traditional sense, she was a grandchild, not a child, but legacies were always favored.

“Why don’t you two go freshen up and change before dinner?” Violet said, her tone making it clear that it wasn’t a suggestion. “I had the servants lay out some clothes for both of you to dine in. There’s been all too much casual attire at the table.” She pointed her finger at Matthew. “That includes you. This casual, tieless, tasteless… ensemble of colors you’re wearing is an affront to my eyes. Go change into something decent.”

“I’ll just have to change before I go out tonight,” he said in protest. He let it go at that. Violet masked her pain in insisting on decorum and tradition. That was why the night of the scoring, dinner was formal and in the style of District Ten. Clodia and the stylists, Paulus and Aurelia enjoyed playing along. It was a tossup as to what was worse, the garish clothes that passed for fashionable in the Capitol, or the fussy white tie dinner wear. At least Sybil and William wouldn’t need instruction on how to wear fancy clothes. He would have to help Dickie, of course, and he wondered how the older man would take that. It was Hodges who helped Dickie with his suits, because of his hand being missing. Hodges, when in his right mind, never had much to say to Matthew. As the man slipped deeper into senility, Matthew had realized that his dislike was because his daughter Rebecca had died in the games and she could have been his twin sister. His mother had suspected that Hodges had been a bastard of one of the prior Earls of Grantham.

It was easier with Hodges left back in District Ten, but it meant he needed to dress quickly and help. Dickie was fully capable of dressing himself despite his disability with regular clothes but the tie and cufflinks required two hands or at least some sort of prosthetic. It just worried him because Dickie’s pride tended to prickle when he was drunk and he was consistently drunk at the games. Much to his surprise though, when he knocked on the door and was allowed entry, William was already there, clearly finishing the final touches. The boy smiled slightly at his surprise.

“I thought Mr. McKendrick might not know the ins and outs of proper dinner dress,” William said as he straightened Dickie’s tie, “but instead he showed me how cleverly he gets done up.” He gave Matthew a concerned look.

“It’s only the tie and cufflinks that bother,” Dickie slurred. That was concerning, Matthew thought. Concerning but not unexpected. Dickie was well past being drunk. He had been on surprisingly good behavior since the train ride, but he had clearly spent the afternoon guzzling down all the alcohol the Avoxes could bring. There were empty bottles everywhere.

“Are you sure you’re up for dinner, Mr. McKendrick?” Matthew asked pleasantly. Part of the farce involved using titles. Violet would be Countess Grantham, Sybil would be Lady Sybil, and William would sit at the table with his former employers and be Mr. Mason for the first and possibly only time in his life. Rage suddenly gripped him and he struggled to keep it off his face. It wasn’t fair, it wasn’t fair that they were both going to die and if one of them was lucky enough to actually live, all they had to look forward to was the same ruined life he was living.

“A’ course I’m up for dinner,” Dickie barked back. “Someone’s got to see to it that this young lad gets a bloody chance!” He spun around and grabbed William with his good hand. “Listen to me, son. I’m pulling for you… They’re all family and you know they’re all clubbed together, the way the lords always do. She’s a lord’s daughter and you’re not a lord’s son! They’re going to screw you over! They’re…. they’re…” Dickie swayed on his feet and then fell back on the large bed. In seconds he was snoring.

“At least he hit the bed,” Matthew said tiredly. He looked at William’s ashen face. “What he said… that’s not true.” It wasn’t entirely true, at least. William had gotten the same treatment as Sybil, the same advice, the same extra info. What wasn’t true was that Sybil had a father who knew how to teach her to fight, and had the free time to do so. Sybil had the luck, if one could call it that, of having the status of being a legacy tribute. That always meant sponsors as long as the legacy wasn’t completely impossible. Worse, unlike the vast majority of tributes, Sybil had parents with money. Even by the Capitol standard, the Crawleys weren’t poor. There would be assistance for Sybil in the Arena. And if he knew Robert, there would be assistance for William as well, just not as much. Robert had sponsored both him and Lavinia. Cousin James ironically had led the drive for donations. Lavinia had gotten a desperately needed water filter and he had gotten a knife. It was something that fostered his resentment and rage afterward, that the money hadn’t been found to buy the expensive Capitol medicine that would have saved his father, but it had been found for a knife, so that he could kill someone.

William looked at him, clearly considering his words. “I’m not a fool,” he said finally. “I’m not family. Lady Sybil is. And she’s a legacy. I’m the also ran. Do you think I don’t know what this dinner is? Do you think the Dowager Countess has never discussed this little custom in front of the footman bringing her tea? It’s a last supper. For one night, I don’t have to remember how lucky I am to be in service. Because I’m going to die.”

“You don’t know that,” Matthew said. “I don’t know what your score will be but you haven’t been written off. The people I meet at these parties… they ask about both of you. You’ll get sponsors. And we’re not going to abandon you in the Arena. Bloody hell, William, Sybil could die in the first minutes of the game.”

“You want her to win.” William said. “Things will be a lot more difficult for you if you don’t bring Lady Sybil home.”

“That’s true,” Matthew admitted. It had occurred to him the second Sybil stupidly raised her hand that Robert wouldn’t be able to resist blaming him if she died, made intensely worse that Robert had no way to remove him from the succession. “But’s it’s my problem, not yours, and it wouldn’t matter if you lived or not. If Sybil dies, the family will close ranks against me. Don’t let that concern you in the slightest. I’ve been persona non grata since I aired the family’s dirty laundry while beating Cousin James bloody in the street. You need to worry about yourself. It’s not like you’ll have to work at Downton if you win.”

William nodded. “I suppose that’s true.” He seemed to hesitate. “You know you’re wrong, don’t you?”

“What am I wrong about?” he asked.

“You’re not… persona non grata in your family. You never were.” William stepped back from the bed. “Mr. Carson says part of being a good footman is to do your job so well, no one notices you and everyone can talk freely. I don’t know why you think they don’t like you. His lordship has even said you’d be far better at running the estate than Mr. Patrick. And they all hate what Mr. James did… Lord Grantham, when he’s been drinking even says he wishes Mr. James had just told him about the deal… that he would have bought the medicine for your father a hundred times over even if you had died, if he had just known what was promised. They didn’t even know your father was sick.”

It was the last thing he wanted to discuss. “He didn’t want them to know. He worried if he asked for their help… that I’d end up essentially owned by them. Because it would cost a lot and Patrick would inherit and Patrick was influenced by his father. He worried….” His voice trailed off. His father had worried that James would take his revenge at being spurned by Isobel back when they were courting by seeing to it that Isobel’s indebted son was ground back into the peasantry.

William nodded in understanding. “My father always said the lives of the rich aren’t better than ours. We should get going. The Countess said there’s shrimp cocktail to start, and I won’t lie, I’ve always wondered what it would be like to eat a lobster. Is it really good? Or will I need to order chicken pot pie later?”

“You’ll enjoy the lobster. Just try not to make a face with the caviar. I’m sure you’ll be regaled with how I spit the stuff out with my first taste.” It was a shame he was probably going to die in days, Matthew thought as they left the bedroom, I like this one.

~*~

“Do the scores really matter?” Sybil asked as she sipped the champagne and took a seat near the view screen. She was uncomfortably full. Granny had made a point of including her favorites and things William had wanted to try into the dinner menu and had encouraged them both to indulge, all while telling funny stories about how Matthew had hated almost everything fancy that he’d been encouraged to try. Even Aurelia, her stylist, had a funny story, of Matthew trying a Capitol favorite, some concoction called a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and his ensuing horror. And for a change, Matthew had been in a good mood, mostly smirking as he ate the dishes he had spurned as a child. It was the closest thing to fun she’d had since coming to the Capitol.

“Scores matter for sponsors,” Violet said as she took a seat. She was also drinking champagne, they all were, except Dickie who had missed the dinner because he was “indisposed”, an obvious code for blind drunk. “They’re fairly meaningless once the Games begin. And they aren’t predictors in any real sense. I mean really, Matthew scored what, a two?”

“It was a four, actually, Cousin Violet.” Matthew said, rolling his eyes.

She was trying to set them up to not feel bad if they scored low, Sybil realized. Scores were a predictor. Matthew was a rarity, a victor who had scored low and started the games with little more than family as sponsors. She could even remember the talk around the house, no one had expected the District to win, but Lavinia had been the one that people thought had a chance. “What did you score, Granny?”

“That doesn’t matter,” Violet said quickly. Her tone was suddenly cold and Matthew gave her a warning look. It was interesting because Matthew was clearly worried. That was a question for later then.

The Careers all scored 9 or 10. The two little children from District Three pulled a four and a three. The girl from Nine that was a giantess only scored a six. That shocked everyone although she suspected they would understand when they did the interviews the next day. Alicia, the girl from Nine, was big and strong and as close to a half wit as she had ever met. Sybil wasn’t sure the girl even understood she was a tribute, let alone that the other tributes wanted to kill her.

“Now for District Ten,” the announcer chimed. “William Mason, the male tribute, has scored a nine.” Clodia and the stylists immediately began congratulating William. Even Matthew, who seemed a bit too quick to praise William considering he was technically mentoring him. It made her wonder though.

“Sybil Crawley, the female tribute from District Ten has scored a ten,” the announcer said. She felt her cheeks grow red.

“You seem surprised, Sybil,” Clodia said. Their Capitol guide was pleased, that much was obvious. “You both have done very well,” she said as the lesser scores for Districts 11 and 12 were revealed. “I have no doubt one of you will be this year’s victor. Let’s toast to your success.” Everyone clinked glasses. Then the view screen began to chime again.

“Next up, a retrospective of District Ten’s victors. Is there a legacy family rising? Join us for the show after the news.” There was a flash of a picture of Matthew, years younger in his interview attire, and then a shot of her grandmother. She knew from pictures what her grandmother had looked like as a young girl but the quick bit of video, of Violet walking onto the stage to be interviewed, was both amazing and shocking. In an instant Violet turned off the television.

“That’s enough of that,” Violet snapped. She turned to Sybil and Matthew. “You’ve both done well but you’ll want to get plenty of rest for tomorrow. The interviews are very important, especially since you’re both now considered contenders.”

In two days I’ll be actively encouraged to kill anyone who crosses my path, Sybil thought tiredly, but I still am being sent to bed like a child. It suited her though. There was a view screen in her room, she could change and watch the video there.

She wasn’t surprised that Matthew excused himself to change so that he could go out. Her grandmother had been more subtle about what Matthew was doing, without getting into the details of how Matthew made ‘met potential sponsors’. She was surprised when Matthew entered her room without knocking, dressed in his garish Capitol attire. “What are you doing here? Don’t you have a party? And you know that suit is hideous.” It really was, a pale blue jacket and a pink shirt with no tie or even a collar.

He shrugged. “It was a gift, and in order to complete the fantasy that I am actually interested in the company of a woman older than my mother, I have to wear it. Are you going to watch the show? I thought I’d watch with you, since it’s quite gauche to show up for a party before midnight.” He took a seat on the chair near the bed.

She nodded and turned the television on. It was showing the tail end of the Capitol news. “I don’t know why Granny didn’t want us to watch it. I know they’re going to show her killing someone. You’re both victors. I know what that means.”

“Do you?” Matthew asked. “Has it ever occurred to you that perhaps I’m not particularly proud of gouging a boy’s eyes out and cutting his throat with his own knife as he begged to die? It wasn’t a fair fight. I didn’t fight fairly at all. I hit girls. I cried and begged for mercy and then kicked the boy that hesitated in the groin and choked him to death even as he was trying to plead with me to spare him. I cheated. I broke every rule of fair fighting. I’m a cheater, a dishonorable chap who will lie and cheat and fight dirty.”

“There’s no rules in the Hunger Games,” she said after a moment. She wasn’t sure what his point was.

“You’re right, there’s no rules in the Games, but if you win, Sybil, your every worst moment will be on display for the rest of your life. You will know intimately just how far you’ll go to live.” Matthew sighed. “It’s not a particularly nice feeling. Your grandmother doesn’t want you to watch this documentary for the same reason I don’t like sitting through yet another replay of the most vicious kill in recent game history. It reminds me that even though there are no rules in the Games, and I did nothing wrong in the Games… I still did terrible things. Things that people judge me for even though there’s no rules in the Games. Your grandmother… had a strategy to win the Games that no longer works. Mostly because she was so successful. So let’s watch.”

She realized in minutes what Matthew was talking about. Her grandmother, at eighteen, in revealing Capitol clothes instead of the District Ten petticoats and corsets, was more than coquettish. She was flirty and sexy in the interviews, knowingly batting her eyes and making comments that brought a blush to Sybil’s cheeks. Her score had been a jaw dropping eleven. And in the Games, Violet chummed up to the good looking male tributes, pretending to like them, getting them to agree to a tryst and then strangling them. At least twice she clearly and blatantly had sex with her chosen victim. “No one has ever said anything about this… Why were the tributes so stupid?”

“Boys can be… dumb about woman,” Matthew said after a moment, “and this was one of the earliest games. There’s a reason everyone says don’t trust other tributes. We’re a nasty lot of liars. Your grandmother is lucky that this was so long ago and other tributes have tried it since. At home… people know but they don’t talk about it because Violet married well and maintains a certain dignity about herself. When we return home, you can’t speak of this.”

She let that sink in. “You think I can win.” That was a shock. She had gotten the impression Matthew found her at best an irritating trial. He certainly hadn’t encouraged her beyond calling her stupid and telling her to shut her mouth.

After a long moment, he nodded. “I think you can win… You just… You have to want it, and you have to accept that you may not like the person you become. If you win, it will be because you did something awful.” He stood up suddenly. “And you need to get some rest. Your stylist is planning a rather masterful concept based on the Crawley family legacy. A combination of your grandmother’s allure, and my childlike innocence… I think she’s planning some sort of Artemis of the Woods get up.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t suggest a dunce cap,” she retorted.

“That will be in your portrait in the grand hall, since you’re the stupidest member of the family,” Matthew said, smirking. “Get some rest. You will be busy tomorrow.”

I can win this, she thought as she got into bed. She rubbed the ring that Tom had given her. If I win, I can go home and Tom and I can marry. Papa can’t even forbid it, because if I win, I’ll be independent, with my own house and money. Matthew had the bad spell after the games but that had always been more about Cousin James and his father, everyone agreed about that. Granny had a family and was well respected, and Hodges had married and had a good life before the senility had broken him. And if Dickie McKendrick was a cautionary tale, he was one out of four. The odds were in her favor.


	8. Chapter Eight - The Games Begin

Normally, the traditions of Downton didn’t bother Mary in the slightest. When bad things happened, wrapping herself in the warm blanket of ‘it’s always been done this way’ was comforting. The Games happened every year, and the citizens of District Ten were required to watch the opening. Downton Abbey had a view screen, used rarely, mostly for the Games and the rare treat of a film. The viewing of the opening of the Games was always a party, a subdued party, but still a party. In the lucky years where no one from the estate was involved, the battle of the Cornucopia would be watched, the servants would bring trays of canapés and drinks, and once the carnage was done, there would be a light dinner where everyone remarked on how unpleasant it was, while secretly all would be relieved that no one at Downton would have to dread the tolling of the church bells.

When it was someone from the Abbey, the viewing party was even more subdued and it was more family orientated. When it had been the boy from the gardens, who had died within minutes of the Games starting, the dinner had been her parents consoling the grieving parents while the servants consoled each other. When it had been Matthew, the viewing of the opening had been painful. Isobel and Reginald had refused to attend, Reginald being too ill and Isobel being too enraged that Patrick hadn’t protested Matthew volunteering for him. It wasn’t against the rules, in the Career districts, there were multiple volunteers some years, and Patrick could have volunteered himself and overridden Matthew. But he hadn’t, and Robert had made him sit through the entire opening, with Reggie Swire glaring at him in stony silence.

This year it was doubly awful. William was new but well-liked by the staff, and so was Gwen, who clearly felt terrible even as she limped about her daily chores. She had insisted on returning to work despite her injury, and Robert had been quietly firm with Carson and Hughes that no one was to blame Gwen in any way but the poor girl seemed near constantly faint and trembling. The servants in general were teary eyed and stoic. Her parents and sister were the same. She was grateful that Isobel was there, and that fellow land holder Anthony Strallan and Lord Merton, friends of her parents, were there to support the family. Strallan was, as her father put, as dull as paint, but he was a good sort to have in a crisis, and so was Lord Merton, even if he had brought his warty sons with him. There was a good chance the gathering would end in mourning, and she appreciated having a few people there who would keep their heads.

Isobel was seated next to Mr. Mason. That was strategic. So was Strallan being next to her father, and Edith and Lord Merton next to her mother. Carson had the steadier servants placed strategically as well, so that anyone who might be overcome with emotion would be taken out quickly. Carson had even appreciated her willingness to assist, especially since he was aghast that he hadn’t known about the situation concerning Tom Branson the chauffeur. “Branson,” she called pleasantly to the young man, “come sit next to me, please.”

If, God forbid, the worst happened at the Cornucopia, the last thing her parents needed to know was that the chauffeur was in love with their daughter. She didn’t dislike the fellow, she was annoyed at his cheek in thinking he’d ever be acceptable to the family, but there was no reason until Sybil came home to be unpleasant to him.

Branson sat down next to her, clearly wary. “Thank you, Lady Mary.”

“I’m not endorsing your relationship,” she said softly, “but I also know it’s worse than painful to watch this with no one knowing your feelings.” If there was one thing that still bothered her, it was the memory of watching Matthew’s games with no one understanding that she was desperately worried. She could see the desperate worry on Tom’s face, but also anger, which surprised her. “What’s wrong? Has someone said something unkind?”

Branson shook his head. “I just thought… Last night at the interview… I thought she’d mention me but she didn’t…” He sighed and hung his head.

She considered what to say. If Sybil somehow won, the relationship would have to be discouraged, but there was no reason to let the poor chap suffer needlessly. “Don’t be concerned about that. Mr. Crawley explained to me that he warns the tributes to not mention anyone but family unless they have to, because it can be dangerous for loved ones after, if they win. It hasn’t happened here,” mostly because Matthew was discreet, “but he’s been told stories from victors in other districts that bad things can happen. He would have warned her to not mention you. That’s why William said he didn’t have a girl he liked even though we all know he’s sweet on little Daisy. Don’t let that bother you.”

She could see the relief in his eyes as he nodded. “Thank you, Lady Mary… that’s reassuring.” As he spoke the view screen began to chime the countdown to the start of the Games. Tom turned as white as a sheet. “I don’t think I can watch this,” he said, almost breathless.

“Well, you can’t leave,” she said. The staff was trustworthy to a point but there was always someone willing to get ahead by ratting out people who didn’t watch the Games to the Peacekeepers. She took his hand and held it. “Look down at the floor, put your head between your knees if you need to. No one will shame you for it.” She didn’t want him in hysterics because he would just set off everyone else.

She didn’t look away when the numbered countdown ended. The black screen flipped to a suddenly lush green view. She spotted Sybil immediately, and was mildly pleased that the outfits weren’t horrifically vulgar. Her shirt looked like the form fitting material the Capitol citizens preferred for exercise, but the dark jacket looked like the one Matthew had for winter trips to the Capitol. The pants were beige with large cargo pockets and it finished with sturdy looking boots. The official countdown to the beginning began to flash as Mary looked at the Arena. Not impossible, she thought as everyone began murmuring about it. She had a suspicion about the wet looking field of grass littered with supplies that all encircled the Cornucopia that seemed raised a bit higher than everything else in the field. The trees surrounding the field were dark and green and moss and plants festooned the trees like decorations. “It’s a marsh,” she said hesitantly. There were a few in District Ten, wet areas that would cost too much to turn into farmland, and she had a feeling that their marshes were nothing compared to the Arena’s designed world.

The buzzer on the Cornucopia sounded and as the tributes jumped off their stands, Mary realized she was right. The tributes were in knee high plant infused water. Most of them were immediately flailing about because they had expected solid ground. At least three, one of them the Career boy from District Four, were limping badly. Sybil nimbly jumped from her platform and began wading towards a duffle bag of gear. Clever, Mary thought, it was a slog to get to the giant pile of goodies, and the two from District One were making their way there. She spared a glance at Tom and squeezed his hand reassuringly. “She’s grabbing up supplies from the edges. William is doing the same thing. She’s got a backpack along with a bag and now she’s heading for the tree line.” A smart move since while Sybil wasn’t the smallest by any means, she wasn’t big enough to last in the fight that was starting to rage in the mouth of the Cornucopia. William was grabbed by the male tribute from Four that had clearly injured himself and managed to escape unharmed. There was a ragged cheer at that, and then a gasp as William kicked the tribute in the knee, effectively crippling him. Then he ran off into the trees. “They both got away to the trees, Branson. You can look up now.”

He did look up, just in time to wince as a little boy, the tribute from Three, was cut down, almost in half by the girl from District One. “Oh God,” he muttered.

Well, it certainly was a good thing you were never chosen for the Games, Mary thought with amusement. The poor lad put his head back between his knees. Mary patted him on the back and silently prayed that he kept his dinner down. “Don’t worry, it’s starting to slow down…” It was quite bloody, worse than normal in that a number of tributes were too mired down in the muck to escape when the Careers got their hands on the weapons stashed inside the Cornucopia. The girl from One, a savage looking blonde huntress wiped her sword blade off on the jacket of the dead boy from Three and began looking around. Mary wondered what for. The Career tributes were killing the stragglers, or poking through the supplies. The boy from Four was slowly crawling towards them, while a good ten of the tributes were dead or dying. She started to count. The two from One, Two, and Four were alive, although the boy from Four was as good as dead. The girl from Three had run off with nothing, Sybil and William both had grabbed some bags of supplies, and likewise for the boy from Seven, the girl from Eight. She thought she had seen the two tributes from Eleven scurry off, and as she thought about it, a skinny boy that had been from District Five jumped out of the tree line and grabbed some supplies and ran off. The Careers began slapping each others hands, except for the injured boy from Four and the savage blonde girl.

“Where did that little bitch from Ten go?” she yelled at the other Careers. “Her game ends today!”

“Oh come on, Sapphire,” the boy from One said quickly. “Let’s get organized and then we can go hunting. We need to hydrate.” Mary could see the sweat rolling off all of them. The other Careers nodded agreement.

“What direction did she go in?” Sapphire shouted, waving the sword at her fellow tribute from One. The boy stepped back and shook his head.

“You want to be stupid, do it on your own. She went that way.” The boy pointed in the direction Sybil had gone. “Take out the trash on your way.”

Mary found herself clenching Tom’s hand as she realized what that meant. Sapphire strode across the now bloody, trampled, wet field and casually stabbed the wounded boy from Four as she walked by him. It made a hideous sort of sense, there was no medical attention in the Games and William had destroyed the boy’s knee, which rendered him useless, but it was still awful. Sybil, Mary prayed, please don’t be soft on this girl.

~*~

Sybil didn’t stop running until the screams from the soggy field died off. She stopped, her legs shaking from the effort. She took just a moment to look through the backpack and dufflebag. There would be time to catalog everything later, she just wanted to see if there was any weapon. She was lucky, in the duffle there was a hunting knife with a serrated edge. It wasn’t much, a weapon of last resort, but it would let her make other weapons. She attached the sheath to her belt and shoved the contents of the duffle bag into the backpack. It was safer, better, to have her hands free.

What next, she asked herself. I need a staff, and quickly. A staff would extend her reach so she wouldn’t have to get in close to hurt someone. A staff would also help with the wet mucky ground. She had seen one female tribute dragging herself out of a deep watery hole that the grass and leaves had concealed and she figured that was going to be a consistent problem.

A swamp, she thought as she grabbed up a likely branch and began stripping it of stems and leaves, a bloody swamp. She had seen photos in books, of swamps, and the creatures that lived there. There were even some marshes in District Ten and she could remember playing in them and she had a very certain feeling that the swamp she was in was a hundred times more dangerous. There were videos in school about the swampy country to the south. The Capitol had moved out all the occupants and killed the holdouts, and occasionally showed the videos of what remained. Giant creatures called alligators with sharp teeth and gaping mouths. There were also large snakes, with poisonous bites, and some sort of primate creature called a bog monster.

She had already figured out that jumping from tree filled hummock to tree filled hummock was the best way to stay dry. The staff was work shift, it would hold until she was able to find something better. She started to jog. She was thirsty but it wasn’t a problem yet and she was certain she had seen some water purifying gear in the bags she had grabbed. Her plan had been to grab what she could and move as quickly as she could to the outskirts of the Arena. The Game Masters would get annoyed with her avoiding other tributes eventually but for the opening of the game, they would be focusing on the bloodbath.

The swamp forest was oddly dark. Has it been long, she wondered. They didn’t sound the cannons until the battle at the Cornucopia had ended. She wondered if William had made it through. They had talked the night before, and made a pact to not try to kill each other unless they both made it to the end. She hoped it wouldn’t come to that. If William had made any plans or had any sort of strategy, she had no idea what it was. Her strategy was to keep to herself, and to follow Matthew’s example from years earlier, setting booby traps and improvising weapons. The instructor at the Training Center had wanted another victor who didn’t rely on the weapons from the Cornucopia and had shown her how to make throwing clubs, spears, and even a spear thrower, although he had used a lyrical word, atlatl, to name it. He’d even tried to show her how to make a bow, but Matthew had made the point when they had discussed it later that she probably wouldn’t have time to properly make a bow. Throwing clubs were easy to make, and to make quickly. She had made several during the final evaluation and thrown them on target and she knew the assessors had been impressed.

She stopped running, to catch her breath, and looked around. There was a dirty looking stream, a river really, slowly flowing by on her right. The trees were large and moss covered, and she was beginning to understand that the trees clumped together usually meant the ground was firm. Her legs were already tired from slogging through the mud. Then the cannons sounded. She counted the booms. Eleven. Eleven were dead, and she had twelve enemies left. Almost half in the opening round. After the cannons, the birds were quiet for a long moment. She listened, and realized that she could hear someone running through the wet woods. She didn’t move from the tree, the person was behind her. She gripped the staff close. If she was lucky, whoever it was would run on by.

At first she thought she was going to get lucky. The runner did go by her. It was Sapphire, the nasty blonde girl from District One. The girl ran by and went right to the edge of the muddy river. She even stepped into the water and looked down the riverbank. “Where are you, you little bitch?” she muttered. Then she turned around and spotted Sybil. She saluted with the large sword she wielded. “Hey legacy, looks like I did find a hobby.”

_You are coming back to your family. There’s nothing you can do, ever, that would change our love for you._ Her father’s words chimed in her head. Sapphire was bigger than her, and had a sword, but she was also knee deep in muddy water. She’s been trained for years to use a sword, Sybil thought wildly, so I can’t let her start swinging it. Without another thought she ran at the girl and swung her staff at the girl’s head with both hands. She wasn’t sure what was better, watching the smug expression leave Sapphire’s face or the satisfying crack the makeshift staff made against the girl’s skull.

Sapphire fell to her hands and knees in the water and began tonelessly moaning in pain. Sybil hesitated. I don’t want to do this, she thought desperately, I just want to go home. She knew though that she couldn’t run off and leave Sapphire to make her way back to the other Careers. It would look weak. Matthew, her grandmother, and Dickie had warned both her and William to not hesitate if they had a tribute down, that sponsors turned on tributes that wouldn’t kill. I’m sorry, she thought as she hefted the staff, but I want to go home to my family and this is the only way.

She slammed the staff down on the back of Sapphire’s head. Sapphire fell into the water, face down, and Sybil used the staff to hold her unconscious body under the water until the cannon sounded.


	9. Chapter Nine - For Whom the Bell Tolls

Robert jerked awake as Carson set down the serving tray. “Carson… I fell asleep… Did anything happen?” The view screen was on and there was a sleepy looking tribute, the boy from Eleven, attempting to fish. Someone had thrown a blanket over him during the night. He could tell it was morning from the light coming in from through the curtains. He assumed he would have been awakened if something happened with Sybil and with five days in to the competition, it was important to know what was going on with the other competitors. “What time is it?”

“It’s almost nine in the morning,” Carson said easily as he offered a cup of tea. “Things have been very quiet. Bates has laid out a change of clothes for you, if you’d like to freshen up?”

That was a good suggestion, Robert realized. He took the cup of tea gratefully, his head was thumping. He knew from years past that mornings were rarely active times for the tributes. Capitol Citizens tended to be night owls and people of from the Districts were rarely in the position he was in, able to watch all day if he chose to. “What have Lady Sybil and young William been doing?”

“William, when last seen, was filtering some water in a covered position. One of the smaller reptilian creatures bit his hand, but so far it doesn’t seem to be troubling him. Lady Sybil was… quite impressive earlier this morning. We didn’t wake you because she was in no danger, but I admit, I didn’t expect her to be so handy with those throwing clubs.”

“What did she do?” He dreaded asking but Carson seemed more pleased than worried.

“One of the beasts, an alligator I believe it’s called, was menacing her but she used one of those clubs she made and has the situation well in hand.” Carson was almost amused, which shocked him.

“What does that mean,” he asked.

“Before the cameras moved away, she was roasting a piece of the beast for her breakfast and seemed to be making herself some sort of necklace with its teeth.” Carson frowned slightly. “Not as fetching as a mounted stag head, of course, but I am sure it will be a charming addition to the trophy collection.” He pointed to the view screen. “The Capitol commentators were quite transfixed by it. Said their hopes of a victor line were well placed.” Then Carson sighed. “Milord, I know the last thing you wanted was one of your daughters involved in… this awful game… but she’s making a good show of it. The way Mr. Matthew did.”

“I know.” He hesitated to say it, because naming a fear made it true. “I worry that she will win, and she will return so damaged, we won’t recognize her. Matthew went to the Capitol a nice young chap, and came back… so different.”

“It was a much more awkward situation,” Carson said gently. “Sybil won’t return to find one of her parents dying. Mr. Matthew was sorely betrayed”

“I suppose there is that,” Robert said tiredly. He looked down at his rumpled clothes and realized that Carson was trying to get him looking at least semi-presentable. “I will get changed but if anything happens, someone needs to come and get me.”

He didn’t know why he said it, Carson had one of the staff stationed by the view screen to watch and call if Sybil appeared on the screen during a rare moment where he or Cora or the girls were absent. His dressing room was well ordered and Bates was attentive as always.

“I’m told,” Bates said as he handed Robert a fresh shirt, “that Lady Sybil was quite impressive early this morning.”

“Yes…” He smiled despite the awfulness. “I didn’t know that she even knew how to throw a ball, let alone a homemade throwing club.”

“I had no idea William knew how to throw knives,” Bates offered, “and yet that’s how he took out that District four girl out. I was startled.”

It stopped Robert in his tracks. “When did that happen?” He didn’t recall that at all.

Bates nodded. “Last night, milord.” He hesitated. “It’s not my place to judge, milord, but you were quite… intoxicated last night.”

Robert felt terrible. It explained the headache he’d awoken with and that Bates was taking a moment to gently chide him meant that he must have gotten quite drunk. “I apologize, Bates. It’s just… been so stressful. I will try to keep an eye on how much I have tonight.”

“We all understand, your lordship,” Bates said carefully. “It’s just… if you don’t mind my speaking from experience, once you start drinking because of stress, it can become… easy to find more reasons to drink. As for last night, young William was accosted by the female tribute from District Four and threw a knife directly into her heart.”

It seemed like he could vaguely recall something like that happening, the more he concentrated. “Wait… that means we’re down to the final eight then, doesn’t it? If William killed the girl from Four then its Sybil and him, the boy from Eleven, the girl from Three, the two from Two, the boy from one and…”

“The girl from Nine. The one that seems like a halfwit,” Bates added helpfully. “You need to eat, milord. With it being final eight, I am sure the Capitol will be sending some reporters.”

To interview friends and family, and they would stay until the end, no matter what end it was, Robert realized. Which meant he had to stop wallowing in the situation. “Right. I’ll let Carson know to prepare some rooms for them if he hasn’t done so already.”

Before Bates could acknowledge the order, Anna rushed in without knocking. “Your lordship,” she said in a rush, ignoring his state of undress, “There’s something happening! Not with Sybil but it looks like it could turn at any moment! Come quickly!”

~*~

Sybil held up the necklace of alligator teeth and smiled. Interspacing the teeth with river stones was a genius touch. She tied it around her neck, knowing it was exactly the sort of garish display the Capitol citizens liked. The problem was that she quite liked it. It would look fetching in real hunting clothes, and it was exactly the sort of item that brought attention at hunting parties. I’m such a product of my class, she thought as she put the necklace on. I’m in the Hunger Games and what am I doing? Making myself a necklace. She sighed, and checked the pieces of meat that she had roasting on sticks over the nearly smokeless fire. She was full, for the first time since the Games began, and while she wasn’t sure how long roasted alligator would keep, she would have dinner that night. That was certainly better than the previous day’s dinner of a frog and some weeds.

She heard the crack of a twig and jumped to her feet, grabbing up one of the throwing clubs she had made. She hadn’t seen anyone since the day before. They were down to the final eight. Three Careers, herself and William, Alicia from Nine, the little girl from Three, and the wiry tall dark skinned boy from Eleven, it had only been five days and they were already down to eight. It wouldn’t be the shortest games ever, and she suspected the remaining tributes were the ones she would have to make an effort to seek out, but it was a brutal death toll. She assumed some of the dead had fallen victim to the alligators. She didn’t intend to make it easy for anyone, but it was the Careers who worried her.

It wasn’t a Career though. It was William Mason, struggling through the mud. He had a knife in each hand and when he spotted her, he stopped. “Are we still having a truce, Lady Sybil?’ he asked, his eyes carefully watching her hands.

Smart, she thought. She never doubted William was smart. Being born a lady of a landholding family didn’t make her smarter than Gwen, or Tom, and being a servant didn’t make William dumb. He was clever to ask, to be careful. He had no way of knowing what state she was in. Tributes lost their minds in the games. She was too young to remember any of the more spectacular breakdowns, but it happened. She waved at him with her free hand. “We’re still having a truce, William. Would you like some brunch? I can’t promise it will rise to Mrs. Patmore’s chicken pot pie but I killed one of the alligators. It’s a bit like fishy beefsteak.”

He nodded and tucked the knives into his ripped up jacket. He looked thin and dirty and a bit overly pale. He wasn’t limping as he walked towards her but he held his left hand carefully, like it pained him. She grabbed one of the sticks loaded with meat and handed it to him.

“Oh thank you,” he said after he swallowed a few bites. He grinned as he grabbed another chunk off the stick and started to gnaw. “This… is probably the best thing I’ve had to eat since before the games started.” He suddenly caught sight of her new necklace. “You really killed that alligator?”

“He wouldn’t take no for an answer,” Sybil said, feeling oddly proud. It had been a huge beast and she suspected she had gotten lucky but it was the sort of thing that would make the family proud. “What’s been going on? Someone killed the girl from Four last night.”

William nodded. “That was me,” he said, so matter of factly, for a moment she was shocked. “The Careers have a sort of base camp in that abandoned village on the north side of the Arena. They’re…. a little timid about the water. The girl from Four was out hunting… I think she was after the big girl from Nine and I… got her with a knife.”

It struck her, how different he seemed. She wondered if she looked that different to him. William looked like a tired soldier, not a teenage boy. After a moment, she shook it off. “I killed Sapphire. That’s been it so far. I saw the boy from Eleven yesterday morning. We just… looked at each other and backed away.”

William nodded. He kept gnawing at the chunks of roasted alligator. He was almost done when a gigantic blast made the ground shake. Sybil could see a plume of smoke rising to the north. She felt her fright edge into panic. Tributes were never given guns or explosives. The Capitol citizens liked to see bloody, hand to hand combat, not kills with modern weapons. “I never heard of any games where there were explosives.”

William nodded and then seemed to jerk as his thoughts struck him. “We’re not given explosives but the mines. At the pedestals. They’re deactivated when the games start but no one removes them and this year they were really just underwater. Easy to get to.”

“But how could it be turned into a bomb? I wouldn’t know the first thing….” Sybil snapped her fingers. “You know who would? That little girl from Three. That clever little girl…” Her words trailed off. It made perfect sense.

The cannons sounded. Once, twice, and then a third time. “Sweet Jesus,” William muttered. “The only ones who were together were the Careers. That makes it five left.” He looked down at his feet, suddenly sheepish looking. “Thank you for lunch, milady… but I suppose we both have our own pursuits.”

It did ruin the good cheer but he had a point. “Good luck, William.”

“And good luck to you, Lady Sybil,” he said easily. He turned and started to take a step and then staggered. Sybil felt something whistle by as she move to grab William before he fell. There was an arrow sticking out of his chest. She looked up in time to see Alicia, the girl from Nine, setting up another shot with a homemade bow.

“You bitch!” Sybil yelled. She threw one of her clubs at the girl’s head, and then the other, knowing she couldn’t win a fight close in with the larger girl. The first throw went wide, but she was luckier with the second. The club smacked Alicia in the head with a satisfying thump and the large girl fell backward into the water. One alligator and then another slid into the water after the unconscious girl and Sybil turned her attention back to William. She knew he was dying, the arrow was deep in his chest and he was coughing up blood. She knelt down next to him and helped him sit up in her arms. “It’s not that bad….”

He coughed. “Stop lying, milady… You know it won’t be long before the church bells toll for me. I wrote a letter… but you’ll tell my father I loved him, won’t you?”

She struggled not to cry. “Of course, of course, William.”

“I’m glad,” he said as he took a rattling breath, “I’m glad we didn’t get to the final two… If I killed you, I’d ruin your family… Your mother and father would blame your grandmother and Mr. Crawley, and that’d stop that little bit of healing. And if you killed me, you’d never forgive yourself. You’d always be seeing me as a ghost at dinner…”

“I don’t doubt I’ll be doing that now,” Sybil said. She could already see the dining room and the empty spot among the footmen.

“No, I won’t be haunting you, Lady Sybil.” William smiled just a little, as he closed his eyes. “I won’t even haunt Thomas. Give them all my love and good wishes…”

She didn’t let go of him until she heard the cannon sound. Then she got up and took the knives from his jacket. He no longer needed them, she reasoned, and he wouldn’t grudge me taking them. It was down to the final three and those battles were always bloody. It just wasn’t right, she thought darkly, none of it was right.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a surprisingly difficult chapter to write


	10. Chpater Ten - Game's End and the Ride Home

He took the proffered glass of whiskey from Violet and hoped she didn’t see how badly his hands were shaking. Between the parties and the casual offers to partake that he couldn’t turn down without offending a sponsor, he thought his entire body was either shaking in anticipation or twitching uncontrollably from being overstimulated. He held the glass with both hands and sipped it. The burning liquid went right to his empty stomach. When did I last eat, he asked himself as the alcohol killed some of the odd buzzing and twitching that was enveloping his body. Clodia had fed him a chocolate ice cream shake one morning, the morning Sybil killed the alligator and there had been a sandwich and candy but it all felt so long ago. He had been running on exhaustion and stimulants since the games had begun, with Clodia and Violet occasionally shoving food into his hands. He felt like he should be hungry, but instead he felt vaguely nauseous and alert. “Is it time?”

Violet took a seat beside him on the couch in front of the view screen and patted his knee. She had her own large glass of whiskey as well. “The tribute from 11 killed the girl from 3. Sybil was chased by the hairy ape creature the announcer calls the bog monster to the abandoned village and the Game Master has mutated pythons chasing the boy from 11. It’s not over until one of them is dead.”

Matthew nodded numbly and clenched the glass he was holding. Once the final two were left, they were intentionally herded together. He could barely think. Unbidden, the memory of the last few minutes of his own games rose up in his mind. The boy had been bigger than him by a foot and it had only been luck that he’d been able to leap on the boy’s back from behind. Luckier that he’d managed to stay on the boy’s back as the boy slammed him into the cliff wall. The truth of that desperate moment was that it had been purely instinctive. His head had been spinning from being slammed into the rock face, he’d had frighteningly painful headaches for close to a year after the fact, and he’d been so close to blacking out, all he could think was to grab ahold and dig his fingers in. It wasn’t until the boy collapsed in agony that he realized just what he had done. Or that he still had to kill the boy that he’d maimed beyond repair. “It’s… more difficult when they might win, isn’t it?”

It was the first time since he’d won that anyone had made the top eight, let alone the final two.

“Yes,” Violet said, her tone blunt. She looked at him, her fierce expression suddenly concerned. She held out a handkerchief. “Your nose is bleeding, Matthew. If Sybil wins, you’re taking one of those sleeping pills and not getting up until her victor interview. Your mother is going to castigate me for how tired and ill you look. Frankly you look coked up.”

“Coked up?” He knew the term. He just couldn’t believe Cousin Violet knew it. He held the handkerchief to his nose, which was indeed bleeding.

She gave him a baleful look. “Your nose is bleeding, and you’re jittering despite how I know you haven’t slept in days. And your pupils are dilated. How much cocaine have you had? Is your face numb?”

“It’s a little numb… I couldn’t say no.” He thought that was understood. That and the fact that someone had to be constantly available. 

“There’s being polite and sociable, Matthew, and there’s inhaling a mountain of coke, and you’re edging quite close to the latter.” She waited a long moment, as they both watched the two tributes start to circle each other. “I understand how much I asked of you. However this ends, I thank you for it. That said, don’t be so bloody stupid again. I can’t tell you how many people I saw drop dead after snorting too many lines.”

“That sounds like the voice of experience,” he said after a moment. He risked a smile, and wasn’t surprised that she returned it. There was a time when Cousin Violet had seemed like his worst enemy, but he could hear the genuine gratitude in her voice. That made the fact that he couldn’t quite feel his face less worrisome. 

The view screen blared out an ominous tune as the tributes started to circle each other. It frightened him. Sybil was surprisingly handy with her throwing clubs but the boy from 11 wasn’t an innocent babe in the woods. For someone who had never held a sword until he took it from a dead tribute, the boy had used it well enough. He was limping, but not badly, while Sybil looked thinner but hail and hearty enough. Don’t get in close, Matthew thought at her, he’s not that much bigger but he’s all arms and legs. Sybil seemed to know his advice, she had a staff and for a good five minutes, the two tributes went blow to blow like the gladiators from the school books he’d read. Sybil held her own and even knocked the sword out of the boy’s hand and then Matthew saw the desperation in the boy’s eyes. He knew that look, god knows he’d seen it in every replay of his own games. The boy from 11 knew he was close to dying and was desperate. With a roar, he lept at Sybil and caught her just right, knocking her off her feet and at such an angle that Matthew was certain the force of the boy slamming her into the ground had broken something in her. There was a long rolling tussle and then Sybil seemed to come up for air. She pulled one of her clubs from her waist band and smacked the boy in the head, knocking him out. Then she stood shakily. Matthew could see her left arm hanging at an odd angle. She looked down at the boy and seemed to wait.

I’m sorry, he thought sadly, but you have to. There’s only one winner and you have so many reasons, so many people who want you back. As he watched, Sybil looked down at the boy and seemed to sigh. Then she slammed the club into the boy’s head.

~*~

She didn’t expect to feel so irritated with the process. She knew what was expected. She wasn’t badly hurt, she had been badly bruised and scratched when the Capitol hovercraft came to fetch her but only her left arm had needed any serious medical treatment. She spent close to twenty four hours in a medication induced sleep while the medics and stylists fixed everything that was wrong. All that was left was the broken arm, carefully nestled in an expensive Capitol cast that the doctors said would have the break healed within two weeks. Then they shoved her into an admittedly lovely dress and put her in front of the cameras with barely a word to Matthew, her grandmother, or even Dickie. All of her mentors looked subdued, exhausted, and in Matthew’s case, quite ill. It was her grandmother who gave her the last bit of advice, to keep her mouth shut and smile and talk about how much she missed her family if pressed for an opinion. Everyone she fought was a fierce competitor who deserved her respect. It was not the time for anyone from District 10 to have any opinions, Violet had whispered. Just be quiet and pleasant. 

So she was quiet and pleasant as the announcer retraced her steps from volunteering to the bitter end. She was quiet and pleasant as she received the victor’s crown, and shook the President’s hand. It was just so ridiculous and stupid. Even if she hadn’t been warned to not say anything, she wasn’t sure she had anything to talk about. She felt quite numb. So numb, she didn’t even really register that they were all back at the Training Center and then at the train station. It was all oddly deflated, the crowds still there but smaller, and held back by a small contingent of Peacekeepers. “Where is the train?” she asked Violet. Dickie was drinking from a flask, and she was certain he had been doing that for hours, and Matthew looked grey and half asleep on his feet.

Violet shook her head. “I confess, I’m not sure, Sybil. They usually have the train ready and waiting.”

There was a sudden hush in the crowd and the Peacekeepers made a path for the President and several of his entourage to walk through to the platform they were waiting. He made a point of bowing to Violet. “Countess Grantham, Mr. Crawley, Mr. McKendrick, I must apologize for delaying your transportation. I was preparing a gift for Lady Sybil and it wasn’t quite ready.” He made a show of offering her a small box. “For you, Lady Sybil. A memento of your games.”

She took the box hesitantly. She sensed it was some sort of test or trap, she was quite certain her grandmother would have mentioned a gift giving ceremony at the end. “Thank you, Mr. President.” She opened the box, she could tell he wanted to see her reaction, and she couldn’t help but gasp at what was inside.

It was the necklace she had made, with the alligator teeth and the river stones, only it had all been polished and refined. Instead of a bit of twine, the necklace now had a chain of silvery metal. Each tooth had been cleaned and capped with gold and the stones were brilliantly black against the gold and white of the teeth, “You remade my necklace… You shouldn’t have bothered, it was my being silly.”

The President smiled. It was creepy. She made a point of not reacting. If she didn’t know better… but he was a man her father’s age, and she somehow doubted she had looked very pretty in the games. He picked up the necklace and put it in her hand. “It was that moment of innocent joy that made me want you to win, Lady Sybil. I thank you for opening my eyes to the honor and courage of the people of the outer districts. The odds were in your favor, and I look forward to your victory tour.” He nodded his head and in seconds the train was waiting for them at the platform.

Taking in Matthew and Violet’s shocked faces, she knew it was bad, what had just happened, she just didn’t know why.

~*~

She awoke with a start, a curse on her lips for being so stupid as to fall deeply asleep. Then she felt the silk sheets and remembered where she was. Not leaned up against a moist tree with moss to camouflage herself, but on a soft bed in the sleeping compartment she’d been assigned on the train. It was a long ride, almost forty eight hours, and she had been too exhausted to argue when her grandmother had told her to get something to eat and go to bed. Sybil glanced at the small digital clock. They had gotten on the train at about 12am and according to the clock, she’d slept ten hours. There had been a tray waiting for her when she’d entered the compartment, and she knew all she needed to was ring a bell and someone would fetch her a meal but she ached for companionship. Just someone to talk to that wasn’t a Capitol servant or escort that was all she wanted. She put on one of the Capitol outfits in the dresser provided, a stylish shirt that fit around the cast and trousers. Her broken arm didn’t so much hurt as make things awkward and she didn’t care how she looked, she just wanted to feel comfortable.

Much to her surprise though, no one was in the rail car that served as their lounge and dining area except Matthew, and he was curled up on one of the lounge chairs, wearing pajamas and a bathrobe, asleep. Someone, one of the servants most likely, had thrown a blanket over him, and he was hugging a pillow with one arm and holding a little stuffed dog in his other hand. She recognized it. It was Mary’s, a not especially clean or nice toy that always sat on Mary’s nightstand. When they were younger, when they were little girls, it was the one thing that Mary carried around like a talisman, a remnant of her childhood and anyone touching it without permission got a slap when the nanny wasn’t watching. She wondered suddenly why Mary was so determined to wear a mask over her feelings. It wasn’t simply Matthew being odd after the games, it had started before then, and she wondered why.

She didn’t wonder why Matthew was asleep in the dining car. He had likely awoken in the middle of the night, gotten some sort of snack from a sleepy servant and then dropped into one of the admittedly comfortable lounge chairs rather than stumble to his bed. As one of the servants brought her a cup of tea, he opened his eyes and made a grumbling sound that the servant clearly interpreted as ‘bring me a cup too’.

“How long have you been up?” he asked tired as the serving girl handed him a cup. He stuffed the little dog into the pocket of his robe.

“Probably only about twenty minutes,” she said easily. Her stomach growled. There was the scent of breakfast wafting through the whole car. 

Matthew eyed her and smiled slightly. “You’re wearing trousers.”

She nodded. “I quite like trousers,” she said after a moment. “Not for a dinner party, of course.”

“Of course,” Matthew rose to his feet. “I should go get dressed…” He swayed unsteadily, and she felt suddenly guilty. It suddenly occurred to her that he had probably been on his feet since the games began, doing god knows what to get her sponsors. There had been water purifying tablets and food once, and the games had ended sooner than expected because of the bombs made by the girl from Three so Matthew had likely been working on her behalf until the very end.

“Sit down at the table and eat first, Matthew. I don’t care that you’re in your pajamas and robe.” She tried to smile. “I mean really, I’m wearing trousers. Granny will yell at me first.”

“I doubt that very much,” he said after a moment, but went right to the table and sat down. Then he put his head in his hands. “How is your arm? Did they give you painkillers?”

“It’s sore.” The fancy cast had some sort of medication timer that seemed to keep the pain at bay. “It’s no bother, I should be fine. Why do you look so awful?”

“I’m coming down off a mountain of coke, if you know what that means, and if you don’t, all the better,” he said, not looking up from his hands. “On the other hand, I feel suddenly famished. And you are clearly wanting breakfast.”

The servants were evidently watching and waiting in the wings and in seconds there was a heap of eggs and sausage on her plate. They ate in companionable silence, only stopping to request more food. Finally she began to feel sated. She sipped the glass of grapefruit juice and wondered how to say what she was feeling.

“I thought…. That I would feel different,” she said to Matthew. She felt odd that she couldn’t find a better way to say it.

Matthew set down his fork and gave her an odd look. “Sybil,” he said, his tone careful. “You’re on the train. You haven’t even been home yet. Don’t beg for problems, they will come.”

“How did you feel? On the train?” She asked out of curiosity more than anything. “I mean, you… acted like you were being chased by demons once you were home.” She felt like she was waiting for some sort of mental bomb to drop when all she really felt was odd and numb.

He sighed. “I was… when I wasn’t having blinding headaches from being badly concussed, I was almost delirious with happiness and relief. I drove Hodges and Dickie insane with my chattering at them, and Cousin Violet gave up and let me gorge myself on sweets the entire time.” He smiled slightly, regretfully. “I was so convinced that things were different. Come now, I know you attended the train arrival, don’t you remember?”

“I was eight, Matthew. I remember we went to the station… But I mostly remember what happened after.” She felt terrible suddenly. It wasn’t where she meant to go.

Matthew’s eyes looked remarkably dark for someone so fair. “On the train, Sybil, I thought everything was already different. I thought that I had somehow had been granted a miracle. Not only did I save my father, but I had won the games. I was going to return home and my father would be well, or at least better, and he’d apologize for calling me a stupid little idiot for volunteering.”

“He said that?” That was something she hadn’t suspected. She had been given the impression that Matthew and his father had been quite close.

Matthew nodded. “He was desperately ill, Sybil, and his only son had just volunteered to commit suicide in front of him. I’m sure he regretted saying it. When I was coming back from the games, all I could think about was that he’d be better, that everything would change.” He sighed. “And instead, everything was the same except worse. My father was dying, in a coma, there had been no medicine, and to this day, I’m certain my mother is lying to me about how he knew I’d won and was proud of me. He was actually quite right, you see. The truth, Sybil, is that I will always be the stupidest member of the family. I realized the night he died what a complete fool I’d been.”

“You couldn’t have known Cousin James would cheat you,” Sybil offered tentatively.

He smiled and sipped his tea. “Sybil, do you think Patrick could have won? Knowing him and knowing what the games are really like?”

After a long moment, she shook her head. Patrick hadn’t been a bad sort, but he had been a brag and a bit of a coward and had been clumsy about everything. “I doubt it.”

“And I am your father’s heir because Patrick killed himself, but if Patrick had gone to the games the way the odds said he was supposed to, he would have died then, and I would have been Robert’s new heir that much sooner.” Matthew waited a long moment. “The demons chasing me were my guilt in knowing that my father’s last days were an agony of worry for him, and the reality that if I’d just kept my mouth shut, at the very least his last words to me might have been more pleasant.” He leaned back in his chair. “Sybil, you are going to have moments in the next few days where all you want to do is scream your outrage at people who will say or do things that will drive you mad. Everything is going to change. You will have problems. But… a lot of the problems I had were just amplified by the games and by the fact that no one had any real idea what was wrong. We’re not having a competition over who can act the strangest. I’ve probably already won, and you’re not to feel bad that you’re not likely to exceed me in creating a scene.” 

“I just… I just don’t know why I don’t feel more.” It was difficult to say. “I should be happy at least. Mama and Papa must be so relieved.” And she was dreading it, dreading their happiness, and she didn’t know why.

“Oh your entire family, and your friends and your secret boyfriend will be all over you.” He started spreading jam over a stack of pancakes. “Punching people in the face does make them leave you alone, but I can tell you from personal experience, punching your mother in the face only makes you feel good for a moment. Then you feel really awful and it’s a terrible spiral down.”

“You punched your mother?” Sybil asked.

Matthew smiled slightly. “Sybil, you and Edith are probably the only members of our family that I haven’t punched in the face… and that was most likely because your parents were smart enough to keep you from being within arm’s length of me. I was… so enraged, with everyone around me, and with myself. I was very lucky that I didn’t drive my mother, your sister, or Reggie Swire away… without any one of them, I’d be dead. My best piece of advice to you is to not forget how much your family and friends care about you. For a very long time, I forgot that. I won’t pretend to suggest that I am an example to emulate but if you do need help, Sybil, you know you can always ask me.” He sipped his cup of tea. “Unless I’m busy punching someone in the face.”

He was trying to be nice, Sybil realized. Because he was worried about her. “Where is Granny? It’s not like her to sleep in so late.” She wasn’t that sure she wanted a conversation with her grandmother, but it was odd the woman wasn’t up, and they would have to see each other eventually.

Matthew stood up. “She’s probably busy. I had better get dressed and I’ll see what she is up to.”

~*~

Violet was where he expected to find her, in the baggage car. He was glad he had changed and grabbed a jacket and gloves, and a thermos of tea. Violet was sitting by the casket, reading a book. She frowned at him. “You’re not well, Matthew. You should be in bed.”

“Oh I think I am well enough to take a turn.” He let his hand rest on the casket. “He deserves the honor guard.”

“That he does,” Violet said after a long moment. “I liked that young man. He played the piano in the servants hall, you know. He was quite good. He didn’t deserve to die.” She pulled herself up from the small chair. “I assume Sybil is awake. Is she well?”

He could hear the concern in her voice. “Well enough, I think. Shocked. She might not handle a celebration well. You should warn Robert and Cora to not plan a lot of parties.” He shrugged. “I’m afraid I’ve set a terrible example. She was worried that she’s not upset enough.” He didn’t think that boded well, Sybil was probably going to bottle up her emotions until she snapped, not helped that she was a lady and therefore held to a higher standard. “She’s also wearing trousers, to upset you, I think.”

Violet smiled just a little. “Then I shall have to make a fuss, won’t I? It will make her feel better.” She took a step to the door and then turned back. “Have you thought about the necklace? What it means?”

“I have.” He crossed his arms, his worry ramping up. “It could be a passing fancy. She is lovely, and a victor, and god knows that excites some people. He might have just been taken with the idea of gifting a pretty girl with jewelry. Or maybe he always presents female victors with gifts. He wasn’t President when you won and we haven’t had a female victor since.” He wasn’t sure he believed it. The necklace was a problem. “Hopefully its out of sight, out of mind. They have their own rules of decency…. She’s too young to be invited to special events. He won’t see her until the victory tour and that’s months away. I’m sure he’ll find a new fancy.”

“Let’s hope for her sake that’s the case,” Violet said. “I’ll send Dickie out once he’s up. You did most of the work this time.”

“I don’t mind,” he said as he took a seat. It was little enough, to keep William company on the long ride home. 


	11. Rules and Rule Breaking

It was a terrible idea, Mary thought as she took a seat at the dining table. She had felt it as soon as her father had invited Matthew and her grandmother to join them for the welcome home dinner when they were at the train station. Sybil had been so quiet. That was the first note of disquiet Mary felt. As much as Sybil had hugged everyone and said how glad she was to be home, it was as though something was muted inside her. Mary didn’t like it, even though she recognized her own coping technique. Sometimes it was simply easier to be the cool, calm one. It was just disarming to see it in Sybil.

Granny was Granny of course. Sybil had somehow won the Hunger Games and her grandmother was acting as though it was simply the matter of course for the family. Maybe it was, Mary mused suddenly, every Crawley victor was a volunteer. Maybe that made a difference. She didn’t know, and she knew she couldn’t ask. Violet seemed determined to act as though Sybil returning to the family was simply expected. It hadn’t escaped her that Violet had corralled her mother as soon as they stepped through the entrance, giving sage advice no doubt on how to handle a victor in the house. 

Matthew had been corralled by her father and his mother. Her father had no doubt asked him endless questions about Sybil and the games, while Isobel was clearly more concerned that he looked dead on his feet. Isobel was quietly livid about it, angry that Matthew looked ragged and unraveling at the edges, but unwilling to say anything when for a change it had been for a good cause.

She smiled at him as he took the seat next to hers, and took his hand under the table. Papa was right about one thing, she thought as she listened to the conversation between to two men, it was helping Matthew to have him take on more with the estate. It was always awful for him at the games, worse when it was a tribute he knew, but while he wasn’t cheerful talking to her father, he was having a conversation about the dairy production and what had gone on while he was away like he gave a damn. It was a nice change, all things considered. 

“Sybil, I hope you’re enjoying the dinner,” Cora said, her tone pleasant. “Mrs. Patmore has been beside herself making your favorites.”

Sybil smiled wanly. “It’s all quite delicious, Mama. Mrs. Patmore has outdone herself.”

Robert looked at her with concern. “Are you all right, Sybil? Is your arm troubling you?”

Mary could see Sybil bite her lip. ”I’m fine, Papa. I’m just a little tired. My arm isn’t a bother, just a bit stiff in the cast. It’s been a long day.”

Not a red flag, Mary thought, but definitely a warning. She didn’t expect Sybil to start punching people and kicking everyone in her way, but she didn’t have the rosy warm notion her mother and father had, that Sybil had survived and would fall back into the rhythm of home with scarcely a backward glance. Looking at her sister’s expression, she had the sudden sense that Sybil had been through the same fire Matthew had gone through, that she had gone through. The fire turned soft metal into steel, and she could see the steel in Sybil even if her father couldn’t. He doesn’t want to see it, she realized with a start. That could be a problem.

“Well, there’s no reason you can’t rest up,” Robert said pleasantly as he sipped his wine. “I’m sure they won’t send the truant officer around tomorrow. You can have a bit of a lie in and rest.”

Sybil blinked. “No, Papa… I have to start planning to move. To the Victors Village.” She looked at Matthew for support. “I assume there’s no furniture, that you moved the furniture from your old house to the one you have now.”

“There’s no rush, Sybil,” Robert said with a bit of pique. “You’re only just back. It can wait.”

“Actually Robert,” Isobel said, her tone soft but firm, “there won’t be much time before Head Peacekeeper Flavio is knocking on the door to ask why Sybil isn’t in her new house. He was quite firm that Matthew only had leeway because of the funeral and… Matthew being out of sorts. A few nights here at the Abbey would be tolerated but…”

“I do have to move,” Sybil finished for her. She smiled slightly. “It’s not so awful. Mama, you can help me pick furniture. And of course, I’ll be here visiting and to ride the horses. With all the entertaining, I’ll be here most of the time anyway.”

“Sybil,” Robert said, his tone growing curt. “You’re sixteen years old. You cannot live in a house by yourself. What will people say?”

Sybil’s eyes flashed with anger. “They’ll say I’m a victor, Papa. This isn’t something you get to decide on.”

“Oh really?” he snapped. He started to rise, but Cora put a hand on his shoulder, forcing him to keep his seat.

“Robert, it is Sybil’s first evening back from the Capitol.” It was a rare moment where Mary remembered just how unusual it was for her mother to rebuke her father. A power rarely wielded often made it stronger. Cora gave Robert a dark look. “We will need to make allowances for the situation. Right now, Sybil is clearly tired, and we’re all tired from having been on constant alert for the last two and a half weeks. I think we all could use a bit of a lie in, truth be told.” She turned to Sybil. “Sybil, I think it would be lovely to help you chose furniture. You’ll likely want some servants as well. I’ve been in both your grandmother’s house and Matthew’s, and while the homes in the Victors Village aren’t as large as the Abbey, they are quite large and comfortable.”

Who knew, Mary thought with amusement, that Mama would win the first battle. 

~*~

“She can’t just move out,” Robert said again as he took a seat on the bed. “She is too young to live alone, like a spinster.”

Cora gave her husband an amused look. She loved him dearly but it was always interesting to see the small things he got hung up on. It was a miracle that Sybil had survived, that their youngest daughter had walked off the train that had taken her to her death. God knew poor Mr. Mason hadn’t been as lucky. The funeral would be in two days and she didn’t think Robert realized how difficult that would be for the entire household, let alone Sybil. “Robert, I know you’re upset but you really need to consider the reality of this situation.”

“She’s a little girl, Cora,” Robert insisted, almost petulantly. “She’s our little girl. I don’t care what she did in the games. It’s over and done. We just have to let things get back to normal.”

Cora tried not to show her frustration. “Robert, it isn’t that simple. She’s not a little girl any more. She’s a District Ten victor. She has to live in the Victors Village, at least until she’s married and even then she’ll have to spend at least one night a week in her victor house… the way your mother did.” She took his hand. “Robert, she has responsibilities now, do you realize that? She has to mentor tributes, she has to attend the Victory tour, and the Parcel Day giveaways.” She took a deep breath. “I talked to Isobel, after Sybil won. I didn’t want to anticipate problems until they were a possibility. Isobel wasn’t making a joke about Head Peacekeeper Flavio knocking on the door. There were exceptions made in Matthew’s situation because he was so clearly incapable.” Incapable was hardly the word for it, and she was bringing up the ugly memory to make a point. Namely, that Sybil firmly disagreeing and pointing out her new status wasn’t the horror show it could be. “Sybil isn’t in a near psychotic rage, and I am grateful for that, and I know you’re grateful for that, but it means she won’t get more than a few days leeway. At the very least she needs to be spending her nights at her new home and soon. She’s obviously trying very hard to be brave and make things easier for us, Robert.” She hoped he was going to see her point. “She doesn’t need our permission to move to her new house. If you push too hard, she’s going to exercise her new freedom. If we help her, she will let us be a part of the process and might not find certain requests so difficult.”

“What sort of requests?” Robert kissed her hand. “I’m sure you have something clever in mind, although I confess I don’t see it.”

“Those Victor homes really are quite large and accommodating. It’s also a five minute walk to the Abbey. You or I could easily spend a night there to keep her company. She’ll need servants, and Carson says Thomas is quite ideal for the role. He’s an ambitious man, he knows the role of a footman, a valet and a butler… and frankly while it might look inappropriate with him being a good looking young man, we both know that his… disposition makes him ideal as a chaperone for a young lady.” He was also the servant most visibly affected by William’s death, a surprise but it made her consider that he might prefer a change of scene. “She’ll need a cook and a maid.”

“It sounds very lonely,” Robert said after a moment. “A house filled with nothing but servants. Even if you and I trade on and off staying over, she would still be alone a lot of the time. What suits my mother may not suit a young girl.”

Cora nodded. “I thought I would ask Mary to stay with her. She’s 22 and has a good head on her shoulders and will keep Sybil out of trouble. It would let her see what running a household is like.”

Robert sniffed. “It will let her be closer to Matthew,” he said after a moment. “I’m not against that particular match, I never was. You know that. But he is quite determined to say no, and I don’t entirely disagree with his reasons.”

“His reasons no longer apply,” Cora said easily. She wasn’t surprised Robert hadn’t seen it, she doubted Matthew had really considered it either, but she was shrewdly certain that Mary understood it. Mary had always been the one to take after Violet. She waited to see if he picked it out, but after a moment, he shrugged.

“You’ll need to explain, I’m afraid,” he said easily. “You know I am terrible at female machinations.”

“He won’t marry Mary because he fears it links her to a victor, he’s afraid that anyone linked to him will be threatened if he’s not instantly compliant. He also won’t marry Mary because he fears any child she has would be targeted because he was a victor. Thanks to Sybil, those issues no longer matter. Mary is now the sister to a victor, a cousin to a victor, and the grandchild of a victor. She is linked to victors, she can’t escape it by marrying and no matter who she marries, the child will be a child of the Crawley line of victors.” She sighed. “It’s not a cheerful thing but she’s already in danger of being threatened because of Sybil and any child she has, no matter who she marries is in danger of being targeted. Frankly, I don’t see many men willing to take the chance on our daughters at this point.” 

“Oh good lord, I never even considered that.” Robert said worriedly.

And it wasn’t the problem it could have been, Cora thought. She knew about Sybil’s affection for the chauffeur and she was practical enough to accept that not only did it no longer matter if Sybil married well, but that she didn’t care who Sybil married as long as she was happy. Mary had been decided on Matthew for years and Edith… “One piece of good news is that I am quite certain Sir Anthony will be pressing for your permission to court Edith.” Even better, the man had come to her after the end of the games, which meant he wasn’t likely to back out.

Robert made the obvious objection. “He’s my age, Cora.”

“They like each other, Robert, which is more than you and I did when we married. They enjoy each other, and Sir Anthony wants children and a family and so does Edith. If she didn’t like him, I’d be the first to object but she does like him. And he understands the risks.”

“Which is an awful thing but perhaps things will change before it’s a concern,” Robert said. Then he seemed to stiffen with resolve. “Maybe it’s time we stop meekly accepting the yearly carnage.”

She pulled him into her arms. “You know I will follow you wherever you go and whatever you decide. But always remember that to throw off the yoke of the Capitol, there will be a butcher’s bill.”

“I know,” he said carefully, “and it stays my hand. But as much as I love this place and our place in it, it’s worthless if all of my children are terrified of the future.”

~*~

He wasn’t sure she’d come. He believed Matthew Crawley, that wasn’t the problem. Matthew wasn’t as odd as people liked to claim. Tom Branson didn’t consider himself an expert on the Crawley family dynamics, he let the house servants waste their time on it. His own opinion was that Matthew kept himself isolated because the District was small and there was no one who didn’t know about his troubles and no one was ever going to let him forget that he’d been so maddened by the games that everyone had a story to tell about it. Matthew would likely be happier all around if he wasn’t constantly being reminded by everyone and everything that he’d been brutally tricked and lied to, and constantly reminded that he’d spent close to a year in a constant rage. Tom had driven the Dowager Countess, Mrs. Crawley, and Matthew home that evening, normally a ridiculous chore since it was an easy walk even for a woman of the Countess’s age. In retrospect, he suspected they had asked for the car purely so Matthew could pull him aside and tell him that Sybil wanted to see him in the mechanics barn later that night

Since the Earl hadn’t thrown him out, he had to assume that neither Mary nor Matthew had told Sybil’s parents about them. That was good. It was also good that she wanted to see him. The worst thing about her homecoming was that he hadn’t been able to even say hello to her. He was worried about her. He had always known that she was strong, but he hadn’t wanted or needed to see it so brutally proven. He knew she would be different. 

It was still surprising to see her walk through the open barn door like she didn’t care in the slightest if anyone saw her. Her eyes lit up and in seconds she was in his arms. “Oh Tom…” she cried softly as she hugged him. “I can’t believe you’re here, that I’m here…”

“Well, you are here, and you never have to fight again” That felt good to say. She couldn’t be chosen again. District victors were pretty much above the laws and regulations that everyone else had to live by. Technically, although he had no intention of pressing it, Sybil could marry him tomorrow. She no longer needed any permission from her parents. If she wanted hard liquor at the pub, she could have it as long as she had the money. If she decided to punch someone bloody, she’d spend the night in a Peacekeeper cell and then be sent home once she cooled off while anyone else would spend a few weeks at hard labor for it. He could feel the cool plastic of the cast. “Is your arm all right? I was so frightened when that tribute lept at you, I could see by how he hit you that you’d fall at an angle.”

He’d been terrified at that moment, terrified that she was too badly hurt to finish it, and terrified that she’d hesitate.

She pulled back just a little and smiled to reassure him. “It’s fine. It hurts but not much and it will heal.” Her expression grew concerned. “Tom, we still have to be so careful… I’m sorry.”

“I know,” he said reassuringly. “I know you’re more free now, that you’ll have your own house, that technically you can do what you like, but I also know you love your family. We can wait to announce that we’re engaged until you feel it’s the right time. I admit, while I love the thought that we could be together that much sooner, I’m traditional enough myself that I don’t feel right marrying a girl who isn’t yet eighteen.”

Her eyes became stricken. She pulled away. “Tom, you don’t understand. I didn’t realize…they make Matthew do things. They threaten to kill his mother if he doesn’t. When I turn eighteen, they’ll demand the same of me unless there’s a prettier victor, and they’ll threaten my family. If you and I marry, they’ll threaten you.”

Tom pulled her into an embrace and hugged her tightly. She wasn’t shocking him with that, he’d suspected for a while that Matthew wasn’t terribly fond of his visits to the Capitol. “All right, love, I know it looks bad but that’s two years away.” He kissed her on the lips, breaking his own rule and not caring in the slightest. He had a feeling the next two years would involve a lot of rule breaking. “We will get through this together.”


	12. Chapter Twelve - Victors Village and a Modest Proposal

The house was lovely.  It wasn't the abbey, but Mary knew better than to say anything critical, and that it wasn’t the abbey wasn't really fair. For the vast majority of people in the District, including Matthew and his mother, the house in the victors’ village would be palatial. It was a big three story home with ten bedrooms. The bathrooms and kitchen were Capitol modern, and Mary had to admit, she was surprised that Sybil went with Capitol style furniture for the sitting parlor and library, but she had to admit, it suited the house well.

"Barrow," Sybil said brightly, as she moved pillows around on the couch, "Do let me know if there's anything you or any of the other servants need."

"I will, milady," Barrow said, "but our rooms are much nicer than I think we expected." Mary nodded at that. She had a sense that Sybil didn't want servants littered about the house, and with the more modern fixtures, there wasn't as much needed in the way of servants. Her mother had insisted that Sybil take Gwen as her lady's maid, and Mary would have Anna, the girl Daisy would be the cook, a much easier job with a modern kitchen. There would be a housekeeper, but only Thomas, Daisy, and Gwen would be living in the house. Anna would go home to her husband every night, as would Jane the housekeeper.

She suspected Sybil was appeasing their mother on a number of points. That Mama and Papa had a room to sleep in was an indicator. That Sybil, who had always chafed at the idea of servants, was accepting several in her new home was another. That she was cheerfully accepting her older sister moving in "temporarily" was a third. To a point, Mary didn't mind. She preferred the Abbey, but realistically her little sister needed someone at her house that wasn't a servant. Because, she hated to think it but it was true, Sybil hadn't come back from the games unscathed. Something was wrong, they all sensed it, but Sybil wasn't talking about it. She had been quite stoic at Williams's funeral, she had been quite stoic all around and it was strange.

The doorbell rang. She went to answer it, since Thomas was helping Sybil arrange more chairs. It was Matthew at the door. He looked surprised to see her. "Mary...  I didn't know you were helping Sybil move in. How... Surprisingly helpful of you." Then he smirked at her.

"My, aren't you feeling judgmental today." She let him into the house, it was starting to be too cold during the day to leave the door open for long. "I am going to stay with Sybil for a few weeks or months, so that she isn't lonely."

He nodded. "And so your parents know that she is eating and sleeping and not curled up in a ball, or drunk?"

"Something like that," she said easily. "Why are you here?"

Sybil stepped into the foyer, a genuine smile crossing her face. "Cousin Matthew, how nice of you to visit. You look much less ill."

"I'm quite free of party favors," Matthew said cheerfully.  Mary wanted to swat him because it wasn't funny. Isobel had been more worried than she had admitted over how ill Matthew had been. After the welcome home dinner, she knew he'd essentially been in bed until Williams's funeral. He'd been pale and shaky, but now some color had returned to his face. She knew what he meant by party favors, she was uncomfortable that Sybil knew, and that Matthew and Sybil suddenly... Were suddenly comfortable with each other, sharing a joke over something it had taken a good year for her to learn about.

"I came to invite both of you to dinner," Matthew said. "Mother assumed that your kitchen might be disorderly on your first night, and our kitchen in contrast is well sorted. Would the two of you like to join us for dinner?" Sybil looked to protest, no doubt to make the point of her independence. It certainly felt like something their mother had arranged with a strong influence from Isobel.  On the other hand Barrow looked almost instantly relieved, which meant they needed to take the invite.

“Of course we will join you for dinner, Matthew.” She gave Sybil a look. “Let poor Daisy get the kitchen sorted. Is dinner to be formal?” She asked it in a teasing tone. She knew the answer, having dined more than once at Matthew’s home. Things were very family style, sometimes with Beth the cook and Mosely, who functioned as a sort of butler and gardener joining Matthew and his mother at the table. Despite the money that came from winning the games, the collateral Crawleys didn’t live that much differently than the way they did before the games.

“It’s terribly informal, by plan,” Matthew said cheerfully. “You can even wear trousers, if you wish, Sybil.”

For a wonder, Sybil giggled and blushed. Another shared joke between them, Mary realized, and her irritation over that was tempered by the fact that it was the first time since she had seen Sybil genuinely laugh since returning.

~*~

“Sybil, have you thought about your art?” Isobel asked pleasantly. She passed the bowl of mashed potatoes to Mary. Sybil had been too busy marveling at how her stuffy and pretentious older sister was dishing up her own food and cheerfully passing dishes to Matthew as though she wasn’t normally waited on like a princess to really pay attention.

“My art?” she asked.

“Victors generally have an art,” Matthew said. He sipped his mug of tea, another sort of informality that Sybil already planned to introduce to her home. “You don’t have to be terribly good at it, whatever you choose, and you don’t have to pick just one thing, but you’ll want something. You know dancing or writing poetry. Painting… sculpture, music. One of the District One victors makes lovely jeweled figurines. I got one for Mother, it’s on the mantel in the parlor. You can take some time to decide. I went through a few.”

“Yes, we were all pleased when you lost interest in throwing paint covered objects at canvas in the garage,” Isobel said.

“Oh I quite liked that phase,” Mary said. “What did you title that one you gave me? ‘Leave me alone, I hate you’?” She laughed.

So did Matthew. “It was actually titled ‘A cold morning on high, and leave me alone, I hate you’ and I will have you know its companion piece ‘A frozen pond with ducks, shut up and go away’ is in the Capitol Museum of Modern Art.” They all laughed, although Sybil wondered if it was true. As she thought about it, she did remember some talk about the paintings. Mostly that people found it odd but it kept Matthew occupied. At least he wasn’t punching random people in the street, was how her father put it.

“If you stopped painting, then what is your art now?” Sybil asked. The meal was a setup of sorts, she had figured that out, but there were duties to her position, and Matthew liked the teacher role.

“I write horror literature,” he said brightly. Isobel snickered, and Mary openly laughed.

“Don’t listen to him, Sybil. He writes trashy romance novels where the heroine is a peasant girl in District Seven who dates a vampire and has a whole plethora of werewolf and weretiger boyfriends. And there was a fairy war. And a magician, with an enchanted talking skull.” Mary snorted in laughter. “The best part is that he started writing them as a joke, because the victor art pretension is so ridiculous, and the books are incredibly popular in the Capitol and the other districts.”

“For some reason they don’t sell well here,” Isobel added, her amusement plain. “I thought the last one with the werewolves battling the elves in the tunnels under the Capitol was silly.”

“Be fair,” Matthew said. “There’s also a vampire war. You said you liked the weretiger character, Mary. Mother, you liked the books too.”

“I was just glad that the writing is quieter than the painting. And involves less mess.” Isobel turned to Sybil. “You really don’t need to make a decision tonight but you should start looking into it. You should ask your grandmother as well. She’ll have some ideas.”

“What is Granny’s art? And Hodges and Dickie?” She somehow couldn’t imagine Dickie doing anything artistic.

“Granny grows roses and arranges flowers,” Mary said. “She just stopped calling it her victor art a long time ago.”

“Edward used to hand carve animal sculptures,” Isobel said after a moment. “He was quite good at it. I have a walking stick he carved, so does Matthew and I think he made your grandmother’s cane. And Richard….” She sighed.

“In theory, he designs rings,” Matthew said. “In reality, he’s quite devoted to mastering the art of illicit alcohol production.” He held up his own, ring less hand. “If you recall, and you might not because you were probably paying more attention to other things, Dickie wears rings on all his fingers.” He smiled slightly. “He also makes a delightful fruit infused homemade whiskey but Mother insists that’s not an art.”

“It’s not,” Isobel said firmly. She gave Sybil a stern look. “Richard McKendrick is an alcoholic, Sybil. So is Edward Hodges, although his current mental dementia makes it easier to keep him away from the alcohol. I know your mother and father sheltered you from such things but I somehow doubt Mr. McKendrick was able to conceal his problem from you.”

“It was noticeable, yes, and I do know what drunkenness is, Cousin Isobel.” Sybil could see that Isobel was ready to lecture and settled back in her chair. Her father had given her an awkward talk as well, as he helped her unload bottles of wine into her new house’s wine cellar.

“I’ve already heard the temperance lecture,” Matthew said easily, “and it’s a lovely fall evening so I think I will take a walk. Mary, would you like to join me?”

Sybil waited until the two of them scurried off.   “Cousin Isobel, I don’t even really like alcohol. I was just thinking that it was nice to not have wine going to waste at a meal. Also, Papa did discuss it with me. And Matthew. And Granny. And Edith. And Mama.”

Isobel smiled. “I’m sure. You know we bring it up because we’re concerned. And because none of us can stop you from doing whatever you please.”

“Yes, I’m aware I could tell my parents to go to hell and kick my sister out of my house, and send the various servants away that I suspect all have orders to report back to my parents.” Sybil sipped her mug of tea. “I’m beginning to think I should.”

“I’m beginning to think you should too,” Isobel looked her over carefully. “Sybil… you know you’re allowed to be upset, don’t you? What happened… the things you did… you’re allowed to have feelings about it. “Isobel put her hand on top of Sybil’s. “I’m worried that you’re forcing yourself to be fine so that your family doesn’t worry.”

“I’m… not fine,” Sybil admitted. It felt like taking a weight off her shoulders. “I just… who am I supposed to talk to? Granny? Do you know what she did in the games?”

Isobel nodded. “I was alive then, you know. And yes, I know that’s an awkward conversation to have with Violet but we had it, earlier today, because she’s worried about you. You can talk to me if you like. The only thing I’d ever take to your parents is if you were thinking of hurting yourself. I don’t pretend to know what the Games are like, but I watched Matthew struggle with it.”

“Matthew said it was about his father. That he felt guilty for being so stupid when if he hadn’t volunteered, Patrick would have died and he would have been my father’s heir and the money would have been found to help buy the medicine that would have saved his father…” As she said it, she was conscious of how Isobel’s expression grew sadder. “He said Cousin Reginald said something ugly to him…”

“Reginald regretted that,” Isobel said after a long moment. “He lost his temper and instantly regretted it, and it was too late. I was certain he only held on as long as he did so that he could tell Matthew he was sorry…” After a moment she seemed to shake off her reverie. “It didn’t help Matthew but he struggled with what he had been forced to do to stay alive, and he would have struggled even if his father had lived. You are struggling, Sybil. You are allowed to feel angry or sad, or however you want. You don’t have to smile and pretend it wasn’t a nightmare, and you shouldn’t be concerning yourself with what others are thinking. If you don’t talk to me or to Matthew, find someone to talk to.”

Sybil hesitated. Finally, she spoke, hoping what she said wouldn’t sound as terrible as it did in her head. “I feel bad… that I don’t seem to feel as bad as everyone thinks I should. That girl Sapphire, she told me she was going to kill me simply because it would make her look good to kill the District Ten legacy. The boy from Eleven almost killed me. Papa said, and Granny, Tom, Mary, Edith… they all said to do whatever it took to return. I volunteered to save Gwen’s life,” and she hadn’t yet been able to broach that topic with Gwen, “and I made it to the end and I came back… and everyone seems to be waiting for me to feel bad about surviving and I don’t. Does that make me a terrible person? That I’m not unhappy?”

Isobel shook her head. “Not at all, Sybil. But it might change and if it does, you might want to talk to someone about it.”

~*~

“Here,” Matthew said as they walked in the light of the full moon, “take my suit jacket. I wouldn’t have proposed a walk if I had known it would get so cold.” He put the jacket around her shoulders and then took her arm. “The temperance lecture will segue way into the ‘it’s not ok to hurt yourself’ lecture after about a half hour. Since Sybil isn’t me, she won’t need the ‘it’s not ok to hurt other people or beat up the school principal or the three peacekeepers who tried to calm you down’ talk.” He chuckled suddenly. “I was such a mess. I can’t even describe it except that I just couldn’t bear to be around people and yet I wanted to be with people at the same time. Half the time I wasn’t even angry, I was just terrified. Of everything and everyone. I couldn’t sleep in my own house for the first month.”

“I know.” She squeezed his arm gently. “This isn’t the first time I’ve had to rearrange my life for a victor, you know. I wasn’t skipping school all those times I came over to read to you.” That first month after Matthew’s games had been a terrible time. Her father had been so enraged with James, Patrick had been so beaten down from all the scorn, she had easily agreed to spending several hours a day at Matthew’s new house, reading school books to him as he rocked in a ball in the garden or while hiding under the porch. “You can tell me now, did that actually help?”

“A great deal actually. Very early on, it just helped to have something happening that I could focus on that wasn’t… blood or my hands covered in blood.” She could feel him tense as they walked together. “I couldn’t turn my terrible thoughts off unless there was something to focus on. And Reggie Swire… would you believe that tiny little man actually held me in a bear hug for close to two hours on the floor of his cottage all while I was thrashing and screaming how much I wanted to kill him?”

“Why did you want to kill him?” She could guess. It hadn’t taken much to set Matthew off into a yelling rage right after the games.

Matthew shrugged. “He caught me leaving groceries on his doorstop and tried to shake my hand to thank me and I went insane at the idea of someone touching me.” He chuckled again. “The poor man was nothing but bruises but he did break me of that particular fear. Sybil doesn’t seem likely to have the same problems.”

“She is a bit jumpy…” Mary offered.

“This time last week, she was killing an alligator with a stone club, Mary.” Matthew took a deep breath and let it out. “There’s an odd sort of dissonance that is hard to describe. One moment, its kill or be killed, the next you’re sitting in a chair wearing fancy clothes being asked what you plan to do with yourself. It can be disconcerting, even to someone who is coping well. And Sybil is coping well. I know that I’m not considered a source of wisdom in that respect, but I did ask around. A lot of victors get a bit withdrawn like this. She has more support than a lot of them get… Frankly I think it’s a good idea for you to stay with her for a bit.” He hesitated. “You need to be nice about the boyfriend. I think their plan before this was to wait until she was eighteen to upset your father and I have pointed out the less obvious problems of maintaining any sort of relationship but I don’t think that’s put her off him.”

“He’s a nice young man,” Mary said, irritated to actually praise the fellow but she couldn’t deny that Tom was a good fellow who was currently maintaining a discreet presence. “He’s just… a bloody chauffeur. She could do better.”

“Says the woman who is holding out for the crazy victor who writes trashy romance novels about werewolves, vampires, and fairy wars?” Matthew asked, humor creeping into his voice. “I believe I’ve often said you could do better.”

“I admit to being shallow,” Mary said after a moment, “but you’re much more handsome than Tom Bransom.” She waited just a moment. There was never a good time to broach the topic. “You know things are different now, with Sybil being a victor.” Worse, really, although she didn’t intend to argue the point that Sybil’s status as a victor made her and Edith much less desirable as wives. Edith, damn her, was lucky that she and Sir Anthony were two boring peas in a pod. If anything it was Anthony Strallan who was lucky in the current situation, she doubted her parents would even consider him acceptable otherwise. It was lucky Sir Anthony was willing to overlook the downsides to taking Edith as a wife.

Matthew was silent for a long moment. “Things are worse for you,” he said finally. “Before, you at least had a chance to escape.” They continued walking in the moonlight, she could sense that he had more to say. “I think the rage in the Districts is building. You said before that you’d go under the wire with me. Would you still?”

“Yes.” She surprised herself with the quickness of her answer. “Is that your plan?”

“Not right away but it will be necessary, I think. Your father has been supplying the rebels. At some point, once the euphoria wears off, he’s going to realize that Sybil will be forced to do the same things I am forced to do. And she will, Mary. Because she’s pretty and innocent looking and any number of Capitol men enjoy the idea of deflowering a pretty victor girl. Bloody President Snow as much as staked a claim on her. They’ll wait until she’s eighteen so there’s two years to plan.” He let go of her arm and turned to face her. “That means you’d be marrying a rebel, along with my being crazy, damaged, and also your cousin. But you would be able to have that fancy wedding you’ve wanted since we were children. Will you marry me, Mary?”

For just a moment, her heart stopped. “Oh, god yes, Matthew. I would marry you in rags in a sewer.” She grabbed him into her arms and held him, feeling as though she would burst from joy. She let her had rest on his shoulder. “Are you sure?”

He kissed her gently. “I was sure that day in the woods when I first told you I’d marry you. I can’t promise you anything except that I love you. I hope that’s enough.”

She returned the kiss. “That will always be enough, Matthew.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This may start to veer into more of a true crossover


	13. Chapter Thirteen - The Art of Plotting

“Gwen, you need to get ready for the class,” Sybil said as she stepped into the dining room. “And so does Daisy. Lady Mary is already over at the Abbey.” Because Matthew had gotten up early to prepare for the first hedge school class since the Games and Mary was currently behaving like a lovesick fiancé. Which was fair, since the two of them had announced their engagement and it was the talk of the District. It was good news, joyous news, and yet Sybil had to admit, she mostly found the fuss over it annoying.

And it wasn’t the Games that had put that in her head. It was that everyone was acting like a miracle had taken place when everyone had known for years that Mary was holding out hope that Matthew would come to his senses. It wasn’t as though people hadn’t tried to shy Mary off that particular target, especially when things had been terrible with Matthew. There were so many signs that she didn’t know why her mother was making such a grand fuss over it, when she knew for a fact her mother had been actively pushing her father to have Matthew take more interest in the estate in part to shove him at Mary. When she added in the fact that Sir Anthony had also proposed to Edith, it was like everyone under the family banner had gone wedding mad.

She wasn’t surprised to see Daisy scurry away. Daisy probably wasn’t ready to run a kitchen on her own and since she was still in school, it meant that Sybil ate at the estate quite a bit. Which also meant that she got to see Tom quite a bit although she was considering a plan that would let see a lot more of him without having to cross her parents any worse than she already had. It was getting awkward, and she knew the moment needed to happen, but as irritating as Mary was as she talked about the wedding planned for early summer, and as irritating as it was to have Edith add to it with her cheery talk of her planned fall wedding, and as supremely irritating as it was to see those two bitter rivals suddenly as thick as thieves with excitement over their weddings, she didn’t want to cause any trouble. Because she had caused enough trouble already and three weeks after the Hunger Games, if she told her mother and father she wanted to marry Tom, they would assume she either felt left out or that she was starting her own delayed nervous breakdown. God knew they were all just waiting for that.

She was surprised to see Gwen hesitate and look down at her hands. “Gwen, what’s wrong?” she asked. As Gwen burst into tears, she moved to her side and gave Thomas a look. He quickly left the dining room, leaving her alone with Gwen. “Gwen, why are you crying?”

“I’m sorry,” Gwen sobbed. Sybil for a long moment and then got her to take a seat at the table.

“Gwen, I don’t understand... why are you so upset?” But suddenly she did understand, at least a little. Gwen was a friend, her best friend, and it was Gwen’s name that had been called. Her parents were good people but like a lot of tenants, were overwhelmed when the lord of the manor took any real notice of them. Volunteering for Gwen put Gwen and her family under the microscope, just like it had put James and Patrick under a microscope. It wasn’t as harsh as the attention poor Patrick had gotten but she could imagine how difficult it had been. The other servants had torn into Gwen for not quitting school, she doubted they had held their tongues over her volunteering for Gwen.

“I just… I feel so awful.” Gwen’s words were muffled by her tears. “You took my place and you didn’t have to… I would have died, we both know it… It was so awful… I don’t know why you’re not angry with me.” Her entire body shook with the force of her sobs.

This is how Patrick felt, Sybil thought worriedly as she held Gwen. Patrick felt guilty, made worse that the unpleasant truth of what his father had done made him look far worse than Gwen ever could, but the guilt of something volunteering for them was the root of the problem. Living with knowing that someone else had suffered for them. It had overtaken Patrick, not helped that almost everyone treated him with open disdain. I’m not going to be a party to it, she told herself.

“I’m not angry with you, Gwen, because I have no reason to be angry with you.” She took a deep breath. “I volunteered because you were hurt. You’re still limping. You would have died and I have no regrets. None. And if you’re feeling bad because someone has told you that you should have insisted on going, that’s nonsense. I’d made up my mind, I wouldn’t have allowed it. I made that decision, Gwen, not you. You aren’t to blame for anything. I know… I know I can’t stop you from feeling bad but I’m not angry with you.” She considered it carefully. “Do you know what Matthew called me, on the train? The stupidest member of our family… and he wasn’t wrong, no matter how much I bristled at him. I volunteered. I wasn’t forced. I wasn’t even tricked by someone I thought I could trust. You’re not to blame for the decision I made. I don’t blame you for my decision at all and I am the only one who would have any reason to blame you. And I don’t. It was my choice to raise my hand.” She took another deep breath. “At least I get to live with the consequences. Everyone else who volunteered this year is dead.” And one of those by her own hands. She felt a chill sweep over her. I don’t regret that, she reminded herself. Sapphire didn’t have to come running for her the moment the games started. She’d been the better tribute, trained from early childhood for combat and she was dead because she had gotten it into her head to insist on having a grudge.

Gwen wiped her eyes. “We’re still friends?”

“Of course we’re still friends,” Sybil reassured her. She smiled. “Now I’m a bit glad you decided to skip the hedge school class. You can help me with my plot.”

“What… what are you plotting… milady?” Gwen asked. She smiled as well, and that relieved Sybil a great deal. There had been a space between them ever since her return and now she knew why and was glad to see it gone.

“There’s any number of things to plot.” She waved her hand towards the kitchen, where Thomas was no doubt lying in wait. “I assume Barrow and all of you really, have orders to report back to Papa and Mama if I suddenly start going mad, am I right?” She waited for Gwen to nod. “Well… I’m not Cousin Matthew. It was awful and sometimes I have nightmares,” and those nightmares were getting harder to conceal, “but I am not having the problems he had because my father didn’t die and I didn’t find out my relatives lied to me about helping my family.”

“Thomas is the only real problem,” Gwen said after a moment of thought. “Daisy doesn’t notice anything, and you know I won’t go running to your parents. Neither will Anna, unless it’s something serious. Like if you started talking about hurting yourself or if you beat up a deliveryman. I mean, that would be worrisome and odd anyway. Thomas though….” Gwen frowned. “It surprised me, really, how upset he was about William. Anna found him crying in William’s room, did you know that?”

“I didn’t… but I’m not surprised,” Sybil said. “I think maybe he teased and tormented William so much because he liked William. You know how stupid boys are.”

“It’s just… Thomas is always about looking for the next step up and I think that while it’s a promotion to be the butler here, instead of the first footman at the abbey, it’s also a smaller house and not as prestigious. Which means he’s bored, and when he’s bored, he makes trouble.”

“Mary is the same way, but she’s nicely distracted despite Mama’s asking her to spy on me.” After a moment Sybil laughed. “I shouldn’t be so mean. Mary and Edith have both been much nicer to each other with a little space between them.”

“And with new beaus,” Gwen added with a laugh. “I never knew Lady Mary could be so pleasant.”

“Lady Mary is always pleasant when she’s getting what she wants. Poor Cousin Matthew may have regrets,” Sybil added. “I don’t think he realized she would insist he actually show himself in public without being unpleasant or hitting someone. But enough about them. My problem that needs plotting is twofold. First, I can only see Tom when I go to the Abbey because that’s where he works. I can only ask to use him as a driver so much before Papa gets suspicious.”

“Wait… why does that even matter? I mean, can’t you see Tom?” Gwen gestured around the dining room. “You’re rich in your own right, legally as a victor you’re an adult….”

“Yes I know but I don’t… I don’t want to make more trouble. Mama and Papa have been through a nightmare because of me. This would be the last straw. And Tom is against it, against my insisting I take advantage of the law.” Tom was taking the long view, and no matter how frustrating it was, she had to admit that he had a point. Her father would never forgive him if they married before she was eighteen. There was also her sisters and their weddings to consider. And the Games and her father assuming she wanted to marry Tom because she was having some sort of nervous breakdown because of the Games. “We have to wait until at least after the next Games and Edith’s wedding so that Papa doesn’t think I’m wanting to marry Tom because this is my version of a victor nervous breakdown. But… I want to see Tom and have him here at the house occasionally without people talking. And I have to find some sort of art to display as a victor. And let’s be honest, I don’t have to be good at it… but Tom does those fun murals on cars for the other lords… Papa won’t let him paint our cars because he likes the classic look but it’s artistic and Tom is good at it. And he could show me how to drive and repair a car.”

“That’s wickedly clever, Lady Sybil, but if you don’t mind my saying so, you’d need a car first.” Gwen considered it carefully. “On the other hand, you do have all the victor money and who better to help you shop than your father’s chauffeur? Your father might not like it though, you fixing things on a car or driving a car.”

“Well, you know all those Irish dances and so does Tom, so if Papa balks too much, I can just use that as my art. Or both. And you know Mama will love picking out the costume frocks. Tom maybe not so much.” Sybil laughed, and so did Gwen and suddenly it felt good to laugh with Gwen. It was like things were normal again, at least for a bit.

“You’ll need to tell Mr. Crawley you ordered me to stay with you today. Maybe you used a high handed tone? Otherwise he’ll make me sample all the weeds he insists are edible.” Gwen paused. “Are you planning to go back to school? Real school I mean.”

Sybil shook her head. It hadn’t been an easy decision, in part because it was the sort of decision that would initially worry her parents more even though it was for the best. “I only had the year left. I missed two months already, and I will miss more with the Victory tour so I’d constantly be behind. Matthew did a home study course to finish high school and does college courses through distance learning.” One of the perks of living in a modern home was that have some of the technological amenities of the Capitol was easier. The Abbey had a phone and her father allowed the view screen and the solitary computer used for Capitol business. She already had a computer ordered. It had been one of Matthew’s better suggestions, and it hadn’t escaped her that Cousin Isobel had nodded in approval over the idea. Truth be told, she didn’t feel like going back to school with the silly chattering over who was dating who. She felt very apart from that part of her life. But still, it was good to sort out what had been troubling Gwen and to get her plans for the future started.


	14. Chapter 14 - Special Recipe Hot Cocoa

“It’s not right,” Tom said. He handed the car part back to her. “You have to learn this. You want to learn how the car works. It starts here. You’re clever in your mind and you’re clever with your hands and you need to make that carburetor mind you. You can’t drive your car until the carburetor is rebuilt.”

“Really,” Sybil took the car part and set it on the table, the lines on her forehead furrowed with crossness, “I’m fairly certain the car has a number of other significant problems. The wheels for example.” She gestured to the nonexistent wheels. The car was on blocks in the large garage that had come with her Victor home.

“You will learn to fix those significant problems as I teach you the fine art of automotive repair. By the time I am done with you, you will be able to diagnose any knocking, change a brake pad, yes even trick out the paint job. But all of the fun things have to be built up to.” He gestured to the other projects. “You did very well with the beginner things. You’re so good at changing the oil already, I will let you change the oil on your father’s car.”

“I did change the oil in Papa’s car, and Cousin Isobel’s as well. I’m beginning to suspect you’re just making me do your more dirty chores.” Tom couldn’t help but grin as she wiped her greasy hands on the grey coveralls.

“You have figured out my master plan, Lady Sybil,” he said with a laugh. “I masterfully have tricked you into doing my chores and I have covered you in car grease, which you manage to make look quite fetching. Also covering you in grease is payback for the three hours I had to spend getting fitted into that silly costume. You know, eventually someone will remember that I am hardly the best Irish dancer in the district.”

“You’re not the worst either, and Matthew says I just have to make a show of doing it until there’s another victor for people to pay attention to.” Sybil said as she began fiddling with the carburetor.

“Then…” Tom hesitated because he didn’t want to upset her. He loved her, and he was glad to see, in the few months that had passed, that she seemed to have grown into her new status as a victor like a trooper, but he still worried. She didn’t want a confrontation with her father, he understood that, but the situation was becoming increasingly awkward. “Eventually your father is going to get annoyed with this. I spend three afternoons a week here, and it is being talked about.”

“Is Thomas making trouble for you?” She looked up from the car parts as she spoke, her expression worried.

“No,” he reassured, “but Mr. Carson has already spoken to your father about how much time I spend here.” He hesitated. His worries seemed so small compared to what she had been dealing with. “We should tell your parents.”

She kept her eyes on the carburetor she was fiddling with. “We will, but not now.”

“But sooner than later,” Tom pressed. “I’m not a sneak and I don’t like not being honest.”

“I know, but if we tell Papa now, he’ll think it’s because of the games, not because we’re in love.” She said it easily, like she had said it before, which she had.

“He’ll always think that,” Tom chided. “He’ll also always think I’m not good enough. But he’ll think worse of me if he thinks I’ve been lying to him.”

The garage door opened. Much to his surprise, the Dowager Countess stepped in, bringing a flurry of snow with her until she closed the door. She frowned at the both of them. “Lady Sybil, what in god’s name are you doing out here with the chauffeur?”

“Tom was showing me the fine art of automotive repair. Did you need something, Granny? We’re rebuilding the carburetor, it’s a tricky business.” Sybil stood up, and wiped her greasy hands on her repair coveralls defiantly. Yes of course, Tom thought worriedly, of course it’s the Dowager Countess who catches us.

Violet Crawley eyed him and then turned her attention to Sybil. “I came to invite you to dinner tonight at my home. The Victory tour is coming and you need to begin to plan. Matthew and Richard will be there to help you and give you advice. And Matthew’s mother, of course.”

“How lovely,” Sybil said, although Tom realized suddenly that she was actually irritated. Irritated that her grandmother was there, frowning sternly at her, and irritated at the very idea of the dinner. “Can Tom, my fiancé, join us?”

“Your fiancé?” He had to admit, the Dowager Countess’s ability to convey distaste in few words was amazing.

“Yes, Tom is my fiancé.” Sybil crossed her arms defiantly. “He has been since before the Games. We’ve been keeping it a secret from Papa and Mama because of the weddings, but Tom feels we should tell everyone because he’s not a sneak and doesn’t like lying. I think that’s admirable, that he doesn’t want to be party to a lie, or start off with my parents on the wrong footing. What do you think, Granny?”

The Countess pursed her lips. “I think the chauffeur is right. Your parents don’t deserve to be lied to and now or a year from now, they’ll be upset with your choice, but if you do wait, they’ll also feel betrayed.”

“That’s all?” Sybil glared at her grandmother. Tom was awed and also worried. He had never heard anyone speak to the Countess so fiercely.

“No.” The Countess turned to him. “Mr. Branson, dinner is at seven. You’re close in size to Mr. Crawley. I’m sure he’ll enjoy a reason to let you borrow his dress clothes so he can wear something garish to irritate me. And Sybil, trousers and grease smeared coveralls aren’t dinner wear.”

~*~

“I look foolish,” Tom said as he looked at himself in the mirror. “I look like a bloody footman.”

“The footmen don’t wear white tie,” Matthew chided, “and they do have to wear white gloves, so be glad Cousin Violet is making you welcome. You do realize she is making you welcome?” Tom didn’t seem dim, but Cousin Violet could be overly subtle with how she handled people, and Tom was already nervous.

“I thought she was trying to take Sybil to task, to be honest.” Tom fiddled with the tie. “How do you wear this all the time?”

“I don’t. One of the perks of being quite mad is that I’m rarely invited to formal occasions.” Although his fancy dress outfits had been getting more of a work out. It was hard to say no to fancy dinners with family when he was not only Robert’s heir but engaged to his daughter. “If I understand the argument, she’s taking your side. She’s also giving her approval, by inviting you to dinner. Finally, she’s also testing Sybil’s resolve.”

“Her resolve?” Tom looked at him quizzically.

“And yours.” Matthew considered how blunt to be. “A lot of things don’t matter now that Sybil is a victor. Before, you wouldn’t be invited to dinner, I think you know that. If you two were adamant, you’d have to wait until she turned eighteen to steal her away. There would be much angry shouting, and Robert would probably insist the two of you live off your wages since she wanted to marry a poor fellow. Then, once there was a grandchild or two, you’d be offered some higher up but not that high up role and be grudgingly welcomed into the family. Now, Sybil can do whatever she likes and she doesn’t need to be concerned about money. Cousin Violet worries, not a lot but some, that you’re just an uppity servant taking advantage of a lonely victor.”

“And you’re not?” He could see Tom wanting to bristle.

“Mary told me about you and Sybil before the games. Sybil told me that you asked her to marry you before the games. And that you had no intention of eloping. So you’re not taking advantage of her, and you have some awareness that her parents won’t be pleased. Cousin Violet is more worried that you don’t realize the risks, and when you do, that you’ll leave her.” He shrugged. “I don’t think you’re a cad but I hope you are considering the risks.”

“Like my potential children being targeted, and that the woman I love being forced to entertain strangers at Capitol parties?” Tom’s eyes narrowed. “Yes, I’m aware of that problem.”

“Good. Also be aware that you will be the threat they hang over her head. Be assured if you marry, they will tell her that they’ll kill you if she doesn’t toe the line. You, your brothers, your parents, her sisters and parents as well.” Matthew gestured to the suit. “You should keep that, by the way. I have a few others you can have. I had to have a few suits made for various functions and then I grew three more inches and rendered them useless.”

“I’m not going to change how I live simply because I marry Sybil.” Tom huffed.

“Yes you will, Tom. Change is evitable. You either change or you die.” Matthew adjusted his tie. “Even if Sybil hadn’t been a fool and volunteered for the games, if you and she married, you would have needed to change, and so would she. Do you intend to cut her off from her family once you wed?”

“Of course not!” Tom said it forcefully, as if he wanted to get angry.

“Then accept the reality that you will be occasionally invited to family dinners where everyone wears white tie. And you will be offered a job more fitting for an earl’s son in law than being the earl’s driver.” Matthew gave him a dark look. The problem, he thought, with no small amount of worry, was that Tom was a clever, ambitious, honorable man who could be incredibly useful to the resistance group Robert had introduced him to. The problem of Robert’s rebel plans were several fold and difficult to solve, but the biggest problem of all was that the average worker in District Ten had no real reason to think things would be better if the Capitol wasn’t involved. He wasn’t even sure Robert understood that it was a problem. Robert tended to avoid the harsh reality that while the people in his group of lords and landholders that assisted in aiding the rebels weren’t grinding the common folk down, a lot of the lords and estate holders were. He had to admit, one of his own worries was that a break with the Capitol wouldn’t change things at all for a lot of the District Ten population.

The doorbell rang, ending any further conversation. He wasn’t surprised to see Richard McKendrick, looking surprisingly sober and resplendent in one of his fine suits. “Mr. Crawley,” he said carefully, “I’ve come to escort Mrs. Crawley to dinner.”

Tom was clearly surprised and Matthew gave him a look to keep him quiet while his mother came down the stairs and cheerfully greeted Dickie. The younger man waited until the couple was out the door before commenting. “You let your mother be escorted by the town drunk?”

“Tom…” He wondered if it was even possible to explain the odd egalitarianism of the Victors Village, where the Dowager Countess was known to dine with Edward Hodges before his decline, whose major accomplishment before the games was being known as a good field hand. “Things are different here. He’s a victor. Yes, he’s a drunk, a terrible drunk really, but when he’s sober, he’s a clever chap. Tonight is a rarity to begin with, we have to discuss the Victory Tour and what Sybil will need to prepare for and since Dickie has been on the Victory Tour, twice in fact, he has to attend. My mother is probably the person who has kept Dickie alive these past few years in at least attempting to get his drinking under control. They’re friends of a sort, and he knows to be on his best behavior with her because he knows I will thrash him if he fails in being a proper escort.”

“You’ll thrash him?” A hint of a smile broke through Tom’s nervousness. “He’s literally twice your size.”

“I’ve done it before, and when I was much more gangly and weedy. You forget, I used to get arrested for thrashing people all the time. And he’s missing an arm, and he’s a drunk. The odds are in my favor and he knows it. Now let’s fetch the ladies before we are late and give Cousin Violet something to complain about other than you simply being there.”

~*~

She liked what Violet had done. She understood it. Violet was forcing Sybil to deal with her parents and raise their tempers with her liberal choices and unconventional ways, the way she used to. Tom Branson was not an acceptable choice for a suitor, but with every single obstacle gone save one, their parents, Mary didn’t understand why Sybil was beating around the bushes about it. It wasn’t as though Papa could stop them. He might insist they wait until she turned eighteen, and he might be upset that the vague talk with Lord Merton about Sybil and Larry considering each other would have to end, but she suspected that deep down it would relieve her father. He was worried about Sybil, worried that she was so calm and on her best behavior. Mary worried as well, because while Sybil had never been a wild girl, not like Cousin Rose who at 14 was already the talk of the district, she had been often defiant of her parents’ wishes and since the games had been far too compliant and quick to appease them.

Her grandmother waited until the main course to raise the topic of discussion. “Sybil, the victory tour is in three weeks. Have you thought about your duties? You’ll need to have a speech prepared. Eleven speeches really. Fortunately you already have learned how to use table manners, and your stylist will control what you wear. We thought you might want to ask us questions since we’ve been before and you haven’t.”

“Not really, Granny,” Sybil said easily. “It seems very straight forward. There’s a little ceremony, I give a speech, we have a fancy dinner with whatever passes for nobility in that particular district and then we get back on the train.” She looked up, as if an idea suddenly struck her. “Wait, I do have a question. Matthew, I do remember what you were like right after your games. How on earth did you manage to sit through a formal ceremony and give a speech? And then have a formal dinner? Without punching someone or needing to be tazared by a Peacekeeper?”

“That’s… an incredibly good question, now that I think about it,” Mary added. It was something she had never really thought about before. The tour was televised and while Matthew had looked dreadfully pale and shaky, he had managed a series of calm, monotone speeches.

Matthew flushed with embarrassment. “I really don’t know, Sybil. I don’t really remember the Victory tour. I was having terrible headaches, and let’s be honest, I was hardly well after the Games and… I just remember a blur of getting on and off the train and people patting me on the back and telling me I’d done well, and giving me hot cocoa and cookies.” He thought about it carefully. “The cocoa was lovely actually. Clodia said it was a special recipe…”

Mary was surprised to see Violet, Isobel, and Dickie all struggling not to laugh. “What?” she asked. It wasn’t often that discussion of the games led to laughter. “What’s so funny?”

“Oh I think Matthew’s old enough to know,” Isobel said, chuckling. “The special recipe of the hot cocoa was to fill your cup half way with cocoa and then fill the other half with warmed butterscotch schnapps.”

“The cookies were usually just cookies but if you were having a rough time, we had some that had tranquilizers in them.” Violet waved her hand. “It was your mother’s idea.”

“Really?” Mary got the sense Matthew was more embarrassed than angry but his tone did make her wonder. He pointed a finger at his mother. “I’m not even allowed a half of glass of wine without a warning look and yet you let these people douse me with liquor?”

“I don’t recall you complaining,” Dickie said with a laugh. “In fact the only whining we heard the whole trip was when the cocoa wasn’t right there.” He gave Isobel a conspiratorial glance. “Seems to me someone might need a cup of special hot cocoa right now.”

“Well,” Isobel winked at Dickie. “It is a special occasion. You’re allowed, Matthew.” Then she started snickering and then they all were giggling at the table, even Matthew, although she got the sense he wasn’t entirely fine with the story being shared. He could be quite self-depreciating about his issues after the games but she knew it had to be on his own terms.

“It’s a pity Tom and I can’t tag along,” she said, to steer the topic back on course. It wasn’t allowed for anyone but the victors to go on the tour or to the Capitol for the games. If she knew Isobel as well as she thought, she was certain the drugged cookies and cocoa weren’t much solace to not being there. She nudged Matthew. “You should take a camera and make a photo album for me.”

“Do you really want pictures?” he asked. “I certainly could if you like.”

“Then there we go. You have a project.” She turned to Sybil. “You should do the same, Sybil. Tom, wouldn’t you like to see the other districts?” Wouldn’t you like to give your girlfriend a distraction from the reality that she has to give a speech about how awesome it was to kill that district’s tributes, she thought at Tom. After a moment he seemed to get it.

“That would be… interesting.” Tom looked at Sybil. “I wouldn’t mind knowing what the other districts are driving.”

“What fun,” Isobel said. “We should have another party when you’re back where we look at the pictures.” She pointedly looked at Sybil and then Tom. “When are you two going to tell your parents? About this?”

“After the tour,” Sybil said, even before the question registered on Tom. She flushed red. “I know what you’re doing, Granny, and I don’t mind. I just didn’t want to create a fuss that would distract from Mary and Edith when they deserves some of our parents attention. But it can wait until after the tour. I don’t want to start a row with Papa and then leave him to stew about it while I’m away. I also don’t want to get my parents riled up and Tom’s family as well, and then leave Tom here to deal with it.” She took Tom’s hand. “You don’t mind waiting a little bit longer, do you?”

“No,” Tom said easily. “It lets me get my affairs in order at least.”

Considering how Papa was going to blow his top over it, Mary thought, it might be best if we lay in a supply of Isobel’s special cocoa and cookies. Her father might need them.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If it seems like I am updated less quickly, it's because I am working on a non fanfiction novel right now and I have a rule of not being able to work on fanfic until I get 1k of words in on the novel


	15. Chapter 15 - The Victory Tour Begins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so this becomes more of a true crossover, instead of a fusion. Needless to say, it will soon be clear that Sybil won the 73rd Games

Sybil pulled her jacket around herself as she stepped off the train. The cold slapped her hard like an open hand to the face. She waited until everyone else was off the train to ask the question. “Why is it so cold? I thought District Twelve was south of District 10.”

Matthew rubbed his gloved hands together. “The big lakes on each side of the District keep the land warmer than surrounding areas. That’s why we can grow grapes and export wine despite not being as warm as District Four. While we’re further north, the fact that we’re closer to the lakes and to the freshwater lakes to the north of the District and the ocean to the east keeps our District warmer in the winter. District Twelve is further inland and mountainous.”

Sybil rolled her eyes as Dickie, Clodia, her style team, and her grandmother joined them in the freezing cold open train station. “You sound like a school teacher, Matthew. Tell us, what are the chief exports of District 12?”

“That would be coal, cold, and despair,” her grandmother huffed. “Isn’t there supposed to be a car?” As she said it, several cars rolled up. Not fancy antique cars, like her father’s and nowhere near as nice as the vehicles at the Capitol. Matthew took his camera out and began snapping pictures of the dilapidated train platform. He nudged her.

“You should take pictures of the cars,” he said with a smirk. “We did promise we’d make a scrapbook.”

Sybil crossed her arms. “I swear, Matthew, ever since you got engaged to my sister, you’ve turned into her little lap dog, always running to do what she wants. Whatever happened to ‘I’m mysterious and will punch you in the face as soon as look at you’ Matthew Crawley?” She meant it in fun, but she hadn’t been the only one to notice the change. Her mother had mentioned it a few days earlier at dinner, that Matthew seemed much happier and less apt to react badly to such minor things as someone touching him.

She wondered if it was Matthew finally having the spotlight removed from his breakdown. Considering that they were going to the Capitol eventually, he was in surprisingly good spirits. He snapped a picture of her, and then turned the camera around to show it to her. "Do you see how cross you look? I've captured your petulant annoyance perfectly." "Perhaps you should add photography to your many, many victor arts," she snapped. She did however make a point in smiling at the men who got out of the cars. Two were in suits, business suits that passed for formal attire in some districts, while the third was clearly a Peacekeeper of some rank. He was an older man, and she struggled to not wrinkle her nose at him. The Peacekeepers in District Ten weren't allowed to look so slovenly, but the fellow in front of her looked like he had slept in his uniform. He also leered at her as he gestured to the cars. "District Ten does produce the loveliest of victors, when they do manage to win. The mayor, the deputy mayor, and I felt it was far too cold for such dignitaries to walk from the train station to the town square." "District Twelve is nothing if not hospitable," her grandmother said, her tone pleasant but biting. "It's Head Peacekeeper Cray, isn't it? And Mayor Undersee... How is your lovely wife? Why don't Lady Sybil and I ride with you, while Mr. Crawley and Mr. McKendrick can get reacquainted with our honorable defender of the law?" It was beautifully done. Sybil wondered if subtly deflecting a disgusting man was one of her grandmother’s victor arts, or if she came by it naturally. In seconds they were in the confines of the warm if shabby sedan. "We'll go right to the square so you can give your speech," the mayor said. He seemed somewhat hesitant. "I... I don't want to presume or ask you to alter plans already made but... It's very cold today, and the people have already been waiting an hour…”

She understood his point instantly. It usually wasn’t as cold at home but everyone that was physically able had to attend the Victory tour speeches and it could take a while depend on how long the victor wanted to drone on. Some of the winning Career tributes could take hours. “I wasn’t planning to take more than ten minutes. I assume everyone gets the afternoon off and I suspect if District 12 is like District 10, everyone will be wishing I make it quick so they can have more time with their families. Am I right?”

Mayor Undersee nodded gratefully. When she saw the amassed crowd in the town’s main square, she immediately considered cutting the already short speech in half. There were poor people in District 10, there were even people who starved to death. It didn’t happen at Downton because her father didn’t allow it. A tenant could fall on hard times through no fault of their own, although too much shirking and he would kick a consistently failing tenant out if it came to it. The people standing in the square looked like the poorest tenant farmers and stock workers. She felt guilty making them stand there in the miserable cold while she said something pointless about two tributes that she hadn’t spoken to or touched. She had needed to look up their names. She got through it, and much as she suspected, as soon as the crowd was told they could go, they scurried off to the various shops and homes that lined the square. Their party was shuffled into a warm structure, the Justice Building. Once she was warm, she was immediately bored. It was clear that the people that passed for community leaders were uncomfortable and clearly taking great care to speak carefully. Her grandmother at least seemed engaged with chatting up the mayor, Dickie had found the bar while Clodia tried to stop him from ordering more drinks. Matthew had apparently decided to be hugely irritating with his camera, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to sit quietly for two hours while what passed for a fancy dinner in District 12 cooked in the kitchen.

“Is it a problem if I go for a walk around the town?” she asked. “We’re cooped up on the train…” And if it was cold outside, at least she could walk about. It really was rather cooped up on the train.

Everyone looked hesitant, which surprised her. Then Matthew shrugged. “I’ll go with you,” he said easily. “We’ve about hit my ability to sit still without the assistance of special cocoa. It’d be nice to stretch my legs a bit before dinner.”

She waited until they were out on the cold stone square to start asking questions. “Why is this district so poor? We don’t live this badly…”

“In fairness, Sybil,” Matthew said as he casually snapped photos of the square. “You’re rich even by some Capitol standards. And District 12 really is miserably poor. They have coal, and nothing else. The actual district has maybe a fifth of the number of people in our district and there’s not much that can be grown on steep hillsides. If you’re poor in District Ten, what jobs are open to you?”

“Estates always need field hands and stockworkers,” she said after a moment. “And if you’re lucky, you can work at one of the businesses or you can get a job on an estate as a servant...”

“And have you ever wondered about that, Sybil? I mean, you’re a third daughter of an earl, and until recently, I was a nothing, a collateral cast off, cousin to the rich.” He stuffed his camera back in his pocket. “If you weren’t a victor, and you went forward with your plan to marry Tom, you do realize your children, and certainly your grandchildren would be lucky to be field hands or servants to their distant cousins. The only reason I was in a slightly better position was because my parents grabbed ahold of the only opportunities that were available. If Patrick had lived and I hadn’t been a victor, if I was lucky, I might be working at Downton as an estate manager for Patrick. And that would have been due to your father, not due to any skill on my part. More likely, since Cousin James despised me, I’d be lucky to get a tenancy of my own. This,” and he waved his hand at the shabby town square, “is just a more honest version of our world. These people just don’t have an extra set of oppressors between them and Panem.”

“You’re in a mood,” she said after a long moment.

“I am,” he agreed. ”We are but cogs in the machine, Sybil. Look, there’s a bakery. I seem to recall that the cookies here were quite good.”

“I’m just going to walk around,” she said easily.

“Don’t leave the square,” Matthew warned. He strode off towards the bakery. Sybil was glad to shake him off. Sometimes he was a bit too much of a dour big brother. Still, it was nice to know he cared. Patrick in contrast had rarely ever acknowledged her presence. Because, she realized darkly as she walked down the windswept street, Patrick had always known that Robert’s daughters were at best, his to choose from for a wife, and needing to be married off to young men of stature, lest the children fall back into the peasantry. The way Matthew’s family would have. He was probably right, she realized as she walked further down the street.

Then she spotted a large building with people going in and out. A pub or a dancing hall, she thought suddenly, they weren’t so different here in District 12. The day of the Victory tour in District 10 usually meant parties once the speeches were done, if only because it was a rare thing to get the afternoon off. She was surprised then, when she stepped into the cavernous space that it wasn’t a dance hall but an indoor market place. The under market, she realized in surprise. There was were several in District Ten, not as large and they moved around a great deal since Head Peacekeeper Flavio insisted the markets took business from the Capitol sanctioned shops. Her father tended to turn a blind eye to such endeavors as long as people didn’t flaunt their bartering. The soot covered building she was standing in had the look of a place long used to having a market. There were booths and wares displayed. The Peacekeepers here are sloppy, she thought as she looked around. Then she realized that the low hum of conversation had trickled away and all of the people were staring at her.

And suddenly she heard thumping running footsteps and then Matthew was beside her. “Sybil,” he said loudly, clearly wanting everyone to hear. “I told you to wait for me, that we’d find a gift for Mr. Abernathy together!” He took her arm protectively. Leaning in, he whispered, “Just agree with me.”

“Oh, I didn’t realize you hadn’t finished at the bakery,” she said, noticing the sack of goodies he was carrying.

“Well, you know I adore sweets,” Matthew said. He looked over the people at their various stalls, “but then I am immature.” He spotted what he was looking for and pulled her over to a table where there were various jars of liquid. An older woman in ragged clothes and lacking an arm was presiding over the goods. “Mr. Abernathy… Haymitch Abernathy… is one of our hosts today and he has often mentioned his love of ‘white lightening’. Might I enquire has to the going rate of purchase?”

The woman eyed him and then nodded. “Twenty Capitol dollars a jar. And if you know Haymitch, then you know he has a powerful thirst…”

Matthew took out a wad of cash. “He does, doesn’t he? Mr. McKendrick is often hard pressed to keep up with him. I trust that one hundred Capitol dollars buys me not only four jars of your product but a discreet bag to carry it in?” In minutes they were back on the cold street, with Matthew lugging a heavy, clinking bag. He frowned at her. “You’re not to speak of this, is that clear?”

“I know what the under market is,” she said.

Matthew stopped in his tracks, his anger plain on his face. “Sybil, that wasn’t the under market of District 10. You can’t simply wander about here. If this was found out, not only would both you and I get into trouble, but all of those people? Could be executed. God knows the Peacekeepers here are bloody sloppy but they can’t ignore a different district’s victor running around their black market. Stop being so damn stupid!”

“Stop never telling me anything and then calling me stupid!” Sybil shot back, suddenly furious. “None of you explain any of these rules until I break one and then you act like I’m an idiot.”

“Fine. Let me explain. Do you know why Haymitch Abernathy is a piss drunk shell of a man? Because he made the Capitol look bad, so they killed his family to punish him, Sybil. Do you think they can’t do that to you?”

“And maybe having this discussion in the main square of District 12 isn’t the wisest choice,” drawled a new voice. They both turned to see an older man of medium build and sallow skin step out of an alcove. “But then, District 10 and the Crawleys always were pretty damn dumb. Too much inbreeding.” He smiled slightly, but Sybil got the sense he found nothing funny about the confrontation.

“Haymitch,” Matthew said, his face flush with embarrassment. “I…”

Haymitch took the heavy sack of jars from him. “Shut your mouth, you stupid eye gouging little piece of shit. People are wondering where the two of you went so get back to the Justice Building. I’ll drop your gift off at my place, and you’ll spot me for drinks tonight as well because it sure as well would be noticed if you two walked back into the Justice Building with this much booze.” Haymitch eyed her carefully. To her he said, “You might want to listen to your cousin, brother, husband, however you two are related. It’s the winning that kills you.” And then he was striding off in the opposite direction.

Matthew let out the breath he’d been holding. “He’s right, we need to get back. I’m sorry I yelled at you.”

“We were both acting badly, I’m sorry as well. I should have been paying more attention to where I was.” It really wasn’t as simple as winning, she was beginning to see that. “You only agreed to marry Mary because I put her into danger… I’m right aren’t I? If I hadn’t won, you never would have asked her, because marrying you makes her a target.”

After a long moment, Matthew nodded. “Take a look sometime, at the marital status of all the victors. The older ones, like your grandmother, weren’t as worried, but those of us who are younger? We all know what happened to Abernathy. Your sisters, your parents… that can’t be helped, but you may want to reconsider what you want for Tom. We had better get back quickly, and when Haymitch crashes the dinner drunk, and he will, we both need to thank him.”  



	16. Chapter 16 - Unripe Fruit

He set the little stuffed dog on the nightstand and got up from bed. The train hummed under his feet. It’s early morning, he thought as he glared at the clock, we won’t be in District One until late afternoon. It meant a long day of little to do but watch Capitol television or the scenery flow by. Watching Dickie get drunk on the train had stopped being amusing years ago. He eyed the fancy Capitol portable computer he’d brought with him. I could do some writing, he thought as he quietly got dressed. The silly stories kept his mind off of the upcoming Capitol parties. Sybil was safe from actual demands until she was eighteen, but he and Violet both worried that the president favored her. In the meantime, he had to be as ‘friendly’ as he could be in order to keep Sybil from being punished when the time came. He already had requests, prior patrons who were delighted to see him in the off season as they called it. Writing would keep his mind off of it. Early morning had always been a good time to write and considering how late the dinner in District Two had run, and how lavish their hosts had been with the hard liquor, he doubted anyone would be up before noon.

The train was oddly different without tributes to wrangle. There was no aura of death hanging over the whole trip. The districts were dismally poor but none had surpassed District 12 for sheer poverty. District Four and Two had been quite nice, and he suspected District One would be nicely lavish. What he noticed was that no matter what district it was, there were always a cluster of people at the top who managed to do well enough despite Panem’s demands. The pressure was building not because the districts were incapable of producing what Panem wanted but that there was never any concern what it cost the districts to produce the goods. District Ten was lucky that there had been no major weather issues to interfere with meeting the quotas. He took out the small paper notebook he’d brought for such thoughts. Tell Robert it might be wise to build a surplus of grain, he wrote carefully. Robert tended to hand out the surplus and was generous to a fault and if there was a bad harvest, the repercussions would be swift and merciless. The lumbering operations in District Seven were currently being slowed down by harsher than normal winter storms and he had seen the terror in the eyes of all the District leaders eyes. Keeping some of the surplus back would give them a little bit of a buffer. He closed the notebook and set it down on the small end table by his bed. He knew what the note meant, so if someone went through his journal, all they would find was some thoughts about the crops. He hadn’t shared his own personal shorthand with anyone but Mary and she only knew because they’d come up with it together. Then he grabbed the fancy laptop computer that he did his writing on. Nothing important ever went on the laptop, he wondered sometimes if the security officer who no doubt was ordered to rifle through his writing was ever bored by the chapters of elves plotting against vampires all while his pretty heroine worried about keeping her house from falling into the hands of the local mayor.

The main car was empty, much as he suspected and he took a seat and began to write, stopping only to accept the cup of hot tea from one of the Capitol servants. He was able to concentrate for a good hour and a half. It was soothing to pound out a chapter of the newest book. It had been Reggie Swire who had suggested writing stories. Reggie Swire had always taken the view that if he didn’t channel his anger from the games into something, he would be dead by thirty. At some point, the older man had gently warned him, you’re going to punch the wrong person and get yourself killed by a Peacekeeper, or worse you’re going to kill someone for the crime of being near you. Reggie had encouraged him to keep up with quarterstaff, and had carefully taught him how to box or at least punch a punching bag instead of a person, and it was Reggie who had handed him a notebook and pen after he’d gotten done telling some outlandish story while sitting at the fireplace in Reggie’s cottage. He sighed suddenly. He missed Reggie. The man’s death hadn’t been a surprise, Reggie had a bad heart, it was something Lavinia had worried about, but three years after the fact, he still missed the man. Reggie had told him to make an honest woman of Mary, and as he looked at the engagement ring on his finger, his only regret was that Reggie wasn’t able to attend the wedding.

He put that aside as he heard the train doors activate. Probably a servant, he thought, but he tensed just the same. The Victory tour hadn’t been as terrible as other trips, he hadn’t needed anything to sleep, although he was certain Violet had been given pills with careful notes from his mother for both him and Sybil, he’d even kept to his normal pattern of tasting the wine but not drinking more than a mouthful. The problem of sobriety was that his instincts weren’t deadened and he tended to jerk at every sound the closer they drew to the Capitol.

Instead of a servant, it was Sybil. Inwardly, he sighed. Sybil could drive a saint to distraction with her naivety and cleverness combined to make her ask the worst questions at the worst moments, and he was no saint. He hadn’t been lying when he told Mary that Sybil was adapting well, it was quite irritating to see her shrug off the experience like it was a blouse she didn’t much care for. She had been lucky, too lucky, and no matter how much he told her about the dangers, she seemed to think bad things would simply happen to other people, not her. It made him dread for her. No one in the Capitol was going to care that she was sixteen and surprisingly overprotected for a girl from the Districts.

Which meant they had to talk, because there was one point he agreed with Violet on. Sybil listened to him in a way that she didn’t listen to the rest of her family. “Sybil, you’re up early.”

“Not as early as you, I see,” Sybil said brightly. “I’m still full from the feast last night. Will District One be like that?”

“Probably. They’ll also make you inspect the teens in their academy of excellence as they call it.” He gestured for her to take a seat. “They’ll also have Sapphire’s family on hand. They will probably thank you for honoring their family by killing someone they now deem unworthy of the honor of the Games. You need to not react badly to that.”

She made a face. “Are they really that crazy?”

“Possibly. They’ve certainly been told what to say at an official ceremony, but they might genuinely believe the rhetoric. You saw the Career school in District Two… they take volunteering for the games seriously. It’s an honor. People who win are heroes. District One is used to winning and Sapphire… let them all down. She let her temper get the better of her. She got killed early and easily. Sapphire will be an example in their Career school of what not to do for a very long time. By their standards, she didn’t even die well.” He leaned back in the soft leather chair. “They either have been dreading this, or they genuinely think she shamed the family. Either way, you have to be polite.”

She considered that for a long moment. “I wasn’t planning to be rude.” She gave him an odd look. “Why don’t we have a career school? In District Ten? It just… It hasn’t escaped me that District Four and District Two seem a lot better off and I assume District One will be similar. When a district has a victor every family gets extra food and supplies for twelve months. I won’t lie, I know the people at Downton are just getting an extra hand but some of the people in District Ten consider Parcel Day like… an unexpected life line. Can you imagine what the people in District Twelve would do with extra food? And it just seems, I don’t know, smarter to have two well trained eighteen year olds volunteer rather than a drawing at random.”

That was a surprise. It was also the sort of thing that he didn’t think was wise to discuss on a train where they were constantly monitored but he thought he could explain it without taking a side. “It’s a trade off,” he said finally. “It would cost a lot of money to have such a school, and unlike District Two, we can’t send the ones who learn to kill and be vicious to another district as Peacekeepers. We’re not as small as District Twelve but we’re certainly not as large as District Two. We would need people to actually learn how to use a sword or a spear well enough to teach others. That would cost money. And then we would either have to teach our children that it’s noble to die in the Games, or face the problem District Four sometimes has.”

“What problem is that?” she asked after a long moment.

“They can’t make people volunteer, Sybil. And they aren’t as wealthy as District One and Two, so they can’t afford to test all of their children and put the best ones into a several years long training school so some years they invest what they can and still end up with the luck of the draw.” He smiled slightly. “Made more hilarious by how their most recent winner wasn’t a trained volunteer and won by default.”

“I felt bad for her, even before meeting her,” Sybil said. “I mean, her games were terrible and she didn’t even kill anyone and yet she won…”

A disappointing Games all around, and he needed to sit Sybil down and really discuss the other victors and other games and how the planner of the 70th Games mysteriously disappeared after presenting a short, almost bloodless game where the winner was a terrified girl that had clearly mentally snapped who didn’t kill anyone and only won because she knew how to swim while everyone else drowned in a production induced flood. But that was a discussion that couldn’t happen on the train.

Instead, he went to an equally unpleasant but safer topic. “Sybil, once we’re done with District One, then we’ll be heading to the Capitol. I have people that I’ll need to entertain, so I can’t be at your side through the entire extravaganza.” He remembered the Capitol Victory party but only just. There had been plates of unfamiliar food that he barely nibbled and streams of people wanting to shake his hand or take a picture with him. Everyone smiled and remarked on how quiet and polite he was. It had probably been evident that he was as heavily medicated as one of the District Five victors.

“Matthew, I’ve probably attended more dinner parties than you. And Granny already warned me that the Capitol parties can be quite Roman in how they enjoy overeating.” Sybil shook her head. “It’s a disgusting wasteful practice, but I don’t have to participate.”

“You’ve attended many dinner parties with your parents,” Matthew responded. “I still looked more like a child than a man for my victory tour. You look like a young woman. Men and women will proposition you. They’ll do it in front of me, and in front of your grandmother. You’re not of age so no one can make you do anything, but you need to be very careful about agreeing to anything. And… you brought the necklace President Snow gave you?” She nodded. “He doesn’t gift victors. It could mean nothing, but it could also mean he’s interested in you.”

She shook her head. “He’s old enough to be my grandfather.”

“And most of the women I entertain range from your mother’s age to your grandmother’s. If you were eighteen instead of sixteen, this would be a much different conversation. And if it was anyone but President Snow, I would say you could cite your age, at least right now. But if it’s President Snow…” He hated himself for what he was about to say. “If it’s President Snow, you have to say yes.” She started to protest and he held up his hand to stop her. “Don’t argue, Sybil. I doubt it will happen,” on this trip at least, “but if it does, you have to say yes.”

~*~

The reality of the Victory dinner, Sybil thought as she smiled and shook yet another person’s hand was that it was fancier and bigger, and a bit racier than the parties at home, but just as dull. Everyone was flattering and vapid, and most of them seemed to think she lived in a dirty shack. Considering what she had seen of the other districts, she supposed that was fair. Matthew had been right, he had been dragged away by a covey of bejeweled women that were her mother's age. Her grandmother had several elderly gentlemen suitors gathered around her like buzzing bees, and even Dickie had a few lovely women, although she had the sense that they might be there in a professional capacity, to keep Dickie in check. For her, once the monstrously large feast was consumed, she was passed from one group of cheerful admirers to the next, all asking the same questions. She cheerfully answered, yes it had been frightening, yes she had been scared of the alligator, yes she had been completely surprised to find herself in a giant swamp. It was rare for any of the questions to rise above the banal. There had been a few flirtatious questions but all of the men seemed well aware that she wasn't of age. The flirty remarks were bold, and definitely implied that things would be different once she crossed the threshold to adulthood but they had all been as gentleman like as she would have expected. She was dancing with a fellow with an extraordinarily fussy beard who had introduced himself as Seneca Crane when President Snow tapped the younger man on the shoulder. “May I cut in? As the host of this lovely party, I can hardly avoid dancing with the guest of honor, now can I?” He held out his hand. “Would you do me the honor, Lady Sybil?”

“Of course,” she said. She took his hands. He’s just a man old enough to be your grandfather, she told herself. It’s like dancing with one of the elderly lords. Much to her surprise, his grip was firm and his steps were pleasing. “You dance quite well, Mr. President.”

“As do you, Lady Sybil,” he said easily, “but then, I’ve been told that District Ten prides itself on maintaining the social niceties.”

“Traditions, not niceties,” she corrected, forgetting herself. “My grandmother taught me to dance.”

“Having danced with her, I can tell,” Snow said. He looked down at her dress, not in a leering manner but with interest. “I’m glad you wore that necklace. It suits you. I suspect you are about to start a fashion trend here in the Capitol.”

“I’ll make my older sister’s jealous.” It was easy to say because it was true.

“I think you will make quite a few ladies here in the Capitol jealous.” He was smooth, she had to give him that. “More importantly, for a change, I will be the envy of all the men since I am dancing with the prettiest woman in the Capitol. Thank you for taking pity upon me, Lady Sybil.”

It was a laid back sort of flirtation, and it didn’t feel serious, it felt like sort of teasing comments some of the lords made to her mother. Showing their appreciation of her, but understanding she was off limits. Still, she wanted to be sure. “I might be a pretty girl, Mr. President, but surely there are prettier ones here in the Capitol. I know, I’ve seen them. And my father would laugh at the idea of anyone calling me a woman.”

That seemed to put him off. His expression grew more sly and knowing. “I understand, Lady Sybil. You have nothing to fear from me. Capitol manners are not District Ten manners but I’ve often suspected District Ten’s quaint ways hold a great deal of value.”

“Really?” she asked as he whirled her around.

“Sometimes, here in the Capitol, it often seems like we’re in a mad rush to pleasure ourselves.” He pulled her tight to him, not cruelly but taking the dance further than it was meant to go. “I suspect though, that in your case, patience will be a virtue some of us here will need to learn. There’s something to be said for not plucking the barely ripened fruit as soon as one can harvest it. Of course, sometimes it’s necessary, for one reason or another, but in your case, I think we'll all be better served if you remain a girl for a little bit longer. I’m sure your parents will agree.” He twirled her again as the music ended. “Thank you for the dance, my lady. I look forward to many more in the years to come.” And then he stepped away and in seconds another man was there asking her for a dance.

Did I just make a deal with the devil, she thought worriedly. She fought the urge to wipe her hands on her new dance partner. It was worse than being grossly propositioned. He had offered his protection and stated his price and knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she had to accept. Because if she didn’t, her mother and father would pay.

  



	17. Chapter 17 - What Happened In The Woods

~*~

Finally, Mary thought as Sybil angrily threw the table seating plans for the Christmas holiday onto the floor.

“I’m not a child, Mama! I have my own home that takes me all of three minutes to walk to, even in the dead of winter! There’s no reason for me to essentially move back in for the entire holiday season! Do you have any idea how ridiculous you’re being? It’s not happening!” Sybil glared at all of them and then stomped away, breaking into a run as Carson dodged her leaving the parlor. “Get out of my way, Carson!”

“Milady?” he asked quizzically to Cora.

“I’m afraid it was me and not you, Carson,” Cora said as she began to pick up the papers Sybil had thrown about. “I tried to force a point with Sybil and she decided to remind me that while she’s officially no longer a little girl, she can sometimes still throw a tantrum like a five year old.” She sat back down on the small couch and sighed. “I’m sorry. I’m acting desperately catty towards my youngest child when I should be grateful we’re able to have her here alive, throwing an angry fit.” She sighed again. “I don’t even understand how I upset her. I thought she’d enjoy not having to trudge back to her house after holiday festivities. She knows as well as all of us that the parties can run very late.”

Mary bit her lip and looked down at her hands. She knew that there was more to the situation than Sybil merely being childish and contrary. Finally she spoke, her tone careful. “Mama, Granny… Sybil has been quite… unsettled since returning from the Victory tour.” I’m not telling tales, she reminded herself. Sybil hadn’t asked her to keep any secrets and was certainly bright enough to understand that her behavior would lead to questions. “She hasn’t been sleeping well, Mama. Sometimes she wakes up shouting or crying, and while our household is quite used to it so that no one makes a fuss, she doesn’t want you or Papa to know.”

“Oh for goodness sake,” Cora said, her concern plain on her face. “Why would she worry about that? We know she’s been through a terrible time…”

“Yes,” Mary agreed, feeling the need to take her sister’s side on the argument but not entirely certain what Sybil’s side was. “I think she feels guilty for having made you and Papa and all of us worry so much.”

“Mary is right,” Violet said after a moment of thought. “I’ve thought that myself. Isobel has tried talking to her without much success. Sybil has made a great deal of effort to maintain a certain… façade. A façade where she’s entirely undamaged and unaffected. We all might have made too much of a fuss over how she handling things so much better than Matthew did.”

Mary nodded at that. “Even Matthew has said that.” Matthew was, she suspected, rather like her in not wanting to reveal Sybil’s secrets, but he had expressed a worry that she was putting too much energy into maintaining a pleasant, dramatics free persona. He had warned her to watch for the moment that Sybil snapped. “That the more people said she was coping so well, the more she would feel like she would disappoint everyone if she did have… an outburst. And I think she doesn’t like admitting that she has her little routine at her home and quite dreads it being disturbed.” And she certainly didn’t like it pointed out that she had a routine that rivaled their grandmother’s. Mary had already borne the brunt of a tongue lashing by Sybil over that. She had been genuinely surprised, both at how poorly Sybil had taken some gentle teasing and that Sybil genuinely had a problem with tea time being moved slightly. Sybil didn’t like any direct discussion of the games or the tour either. It did remind her of Matthew and not in a pleasant way. As she considered it, she wondered if part of Sybil’s reaction was less pent up emotion and more genuine worry that without the routine of her own home, that the nightmares would be worse. Matthew had told her that he worried that when his routine was disrupted, if it wasn’t something of his choosing, that it set off a spiral of worry in his mind that something bad was going to happen. She had gained a lot of insight into his behavior that terrible first year after the games after he had started opening up to her about why he had been acting so terribly and what he’d really been thinking. “I’d let her have her way on this, Mama.”

“I will,” Cora said easily. She sighed. “I just… sometimes I just want to hold her and hug her and reassure her that she’s never going to be asked to do anything so awful again. I will walk over to her house later today and make sure she knows we’re perfectly fine with her staying at her home and if she changes her mind, there will be plenty of room for her.” Cora hesitated and then pressed forward. “I’m glad you’ve been staying with her, Mary. I hope Sybil will handle it well when you leave in the spring. We haven’t really talked about that…” For a wonder, her mother actually giggled. “Does Matthew realize you’re going to be moving into his house? Disrupting his routine?”

“We have discussed that necessity, yes,” Mary couldn’t help it, she laughed as well. “He’s actually been quite shy about it. Shy and awkward.”

“Matthew? Shy?” Violet sniffed. “He’s never been shy about telling me off. Or anyone else.”

A small ball of anger rose up in Mary. “Yes, he had that terrible time after the games where he was angry and enraged at the drop of a hat and said and did terrible things. And you know why he was like that? Because he was so terrified of everything and everyone and because he was certain that what he had done in the games made him a monster in everyone’s eyes, including his own. And the Capitol never lets him forget what he did in the games, and we never let him forget that he fell apart and didn’t act like a stoic, noble gentleman. If you think he doesn’t realize that he will always be that angry, terrified child in the eyes of almost everyone he knows, let me assure you, he does know and he’s well aware that he has forever shamed himself and will never be respected by anyone in this district.” She set her hands on the table, willing herself to not ball them up into fists. “I know you were teasing, Granny, but sometimes it’s very frustrating. Matthew hasn’t raised his voice or his fists in years but everyone treats him as though he’s the same as he was when he first came back from the games. That’s why he isolates himself and doesn’t like to attend social events. And Sybil knows this and sees this and knows the minute she does anything other than continue to be perfectly behaved, she’ll be labeled as permanently damaged goods just like Matthew.” It was like a revelation to Mary, that Sybil was afraid of becoming another family disappointment. “That’s why she’s so stressed. One reason, anyway.”

Cora nodded. “I know about the boyfriend, if that the secret you’re keeping.” Her mother took in her surprised expression. “No one told me, it just has hardly been subtle.” Cora sighed and folded her hands on her lap. “I have no problem with the young man. I think he’s clever, hardworking, and it doesn’t hurt that he’s handsome. I wish he came from a better family, but he is what he is and it hasn’t escaped me that Sybil might find it difficult to find a husband considering her status as a victor. I don’t even think your father would have a problem with him… But I suddenly have an overwhelming sense that Sybil would be very disappointed if we just welcomed him with no fuss… that we would be accepting him merely because she was in the games and we don’t want to upset her. This is all so complex…”

Mary caught the look her grandmother was giving her. “I will try to talk to her about it.” She just didn’t know that it would help.

~*~

Sybil knew it was Mary coming for her, even before the door to the garage opened. Even in snow and ice, Mary had a brisk, no nonsense gait that was entire different from Daisy’s hesitant steps, or Gwen’s patient walk with the right foot that still dragged. Mary walked more like one of the Peacekeepers. She hugged her heavy jacket around herself as Mary opened the door. “I’m not spending the entire month at the Abbey,” she said sternly.

“You’ve made that clear,” Mary looked over the table of car parts, her expression calm but irritated. “I am completely torn. Part of me wants to hug you and reassure you. Mama said almost exactly that after you stomped out. And part of me wants to slap you senseless for being so bloody selfish and stupid.”

“Lovely,” Sybil muttered. “Did Matthew teach you the stupid insult?”

“He didn’t need to. It came to me the second you raised your hand and volunteered.” Mary stepped forward. “Do you realize how you completely broke Papa? That he wept and drank himself to sleep every night you were gone? That Mama was like a desperate, silent specter, praying at church twice a day that you’d somehow survive? I had to hold your boyfriend’s hand and keep him from fainting when the games started.” Mary’s anger was always a sight to behold and Sybil had never had it directed at her before. “Mama was not trying to make you angry. She just wanted to have all three of her daughters’ home for one last Christmas together. This time next year, both Edith and I will be married, and you’ll probably be engaged. I **know** that this has been difficult for you, I don’t pretend that any of us suffered more, but we did suffer your decision, Sybil. Open up your eyes and see that. And see that we’re all trying desperately to help you and support you.”

“Support me? You think you know what I went through?” Sybil slapped Mary’s face, positively reveling in the feeling. “You don’t know **anything** , Mary! You’ve never killed anyone! You’ve never had to kill anyone! You don’t know what it was like! I know you think you know because you’re close to Matthew, but whatever it is between you two, trust me, he hasn’t told you everything.”

Mary glared at her. “He’s told me more than you think… And you don’t know what’s between us, Sybil.”

Sybil threw up her hands. “Oh spare me the dark looks, Mary. How can you possibly have any understanding? You don’t have any idea what it is like to kill someone and have everybody staring at you like you’re some sort of freak! And knowing that you **are** some sort of freak because if you were ever in the same situation, you’d do the same thing!”

She braced herself for the slap she knew was coming, she’d seen Mary’s eye alight in rage before, although it usually was a thing saved for Edith. Then, it was almost as if a cold wave washed over her sister. “Put your gloves on and come with me.”

It was strange, and yet there was an odd aura around Mary, as if she was suddenly certain of something. “Why?”

“Because I’m your sister and I said so, and because there’s something you need to hear.” Mary picked up her own gloves and walked out the door. She didn’t look back. Sybil hated indulging her, Mary was a born tyrant and giving in to her just made it worse but she followed her older sister out of the garage and into the cold.

Thirty minutes later, trudging through the snow in the waning afternoon light, she was beginning to regret following her sister into the woods. They were, she realized suddenly, very close to the District fences. Close enough that she could see the barbed wire through the tree line but Mary halted short of the fencing. “We’re here,” Mary said, her breath frosty in the air.

“And here is?” Sybil asked. The walk had burned off some of her anger and she was more curious. They were in a small clearing, the sort that sometimes happened in the woods. Not sunny, the trees in summer would have kept it in the shade but a bigger than normal bare spot. There were rocks in a circle and old boards, scrap wood, and the ragged remains of blankets. She understood in an instant. It was a secret play area. Mary and a friend, Matthew most likely, had likely had a sort of lean to clubhouse in the woods where they could retreat to. She had done something similar although her secret fort hadn’t been so far out. “Why are we here?”

“Matthew and I used to play here… “Mary took a deep breath. “I was mad for quarterstaff practice and so was Matthew and we couldn’t practice near the house…” Her words trailed off.

“Why are we here, Mary?” Sybil asked, her concern growing.

Mary crossed her arms. “Do you remember the fuss over Peacekeeper Pamuk?”

“A little,” Sybil admitted. “I was only five.” It was a memory of feelings more than anything. People being upset and angry, Head Peacekeeper Flavio shouting at her father and the other lords, and everyone being worried and scared as the Peacekeepers searched everywhere. “Didn’t… didn’t they decide he must have gone under the wire?” An unsatisfactory answer, she recalled, because Peacekeeper Kemal Pamuk had been a man of some rank, an up and comer in line for promotion. Flavio had liked the man, and had used him as a second in command at times, despite his youth, and it had been rumored that Pamuk was some sort of illegitimate but cherished relative of the Head Peacekeeper.

“Officially he’s missing in action.” Mary’s face took on a dark cast. “Unofficially, I killed him. In this clearing. You’re just about standing on his grave.”

“What?” Sybil felt almost faint and fought the urge to jump away from the spot she was standing on.

Mary shrugged and put her hands in her jacket pockets. “I was thirteen and I was supposed to meet Matthew but he had some chore so I went ahead and Kemal followed me.” She chuckled ruefully. “He caught me practicing with a staff and said that he could throw us all in chains or worse if he wanted. And then he said I was pretty and he’d always wondered if a lady was different. He told me it would hurt less if I didn’t fight. I told him my father would beat him senseless if he touched me and he said all that would happen is that I’d be called a stupid whore regardless, Papa would be arrested and executed, and he’d still have me.”

“But… you were a little girl…” And suddenly Sybil saw it all rise up in her mind, and shuddered. “How did he die?”

“When he was done, I got on top of him and… I put my arm across his throat, like how Granny did in her games. He didn’t even realize what I was doing until it was too late.” Mary’s voice shook just a little. “And then I started crying because I knew I was in even worse trouble. I was half dressed, in the woods, and I’d killed a Peacekeeper. Then… Matthew found me.” Mary wiped her eyes. “God, he was so small, even though he was a year older than me… but he knew exactly what to do. He dug the hole, he spread leaves over it to make it look undisturbed…. He even went up to the fence and used his pocket knife to pick a hole through, so it would look like Kemal ran away. All I could do was cry. He didn’t understand, until I explained what Kemal had done, that I was ruined, that no man would ever want to marry a ruined girl.” Mary seemed to shake off her emotions and resume her stern pose. “I know what it’s like to kill someone, Sybil, and to think everyone would despise me and hate me if they found out my secret. I’m just lucky that what I did wasn’t splayed out for the entire district to watch. It took me a very long time to realize what I am about to say to you. You don’t have to let your worst moment define you… and you shouldn’t do what I did, because you don’t need to.”

“What do you mean?” Sybil asked. She took a step closer to Mary but held off doing what felt right, hugging her sister and hoping she could absorb some of the woman’s pain. Mary had never tolerated casual hugs well, and it suddenly occurred to her why that was. “What did you do?”

“I hid it. I kept it a secret.” Mary took a long breath and let it out. “I let it fester. I realize now that Mama and Papa would have understood, that they would have been kind about it. Granny would have understood. You don’t have to let it fester, Sybil. If you just talk about it, with Tom or maybe Matthew, or even me or Edith, I think you’ll feel better.”

Sybil nodded. Then she reached out and pulled her older sister into her arms. “I’m sorry,” she said softly, “that such a terrible thing happened and you were so alone. You did nothing wrong, he was a terrible vile man to even think of you that way.” Mary could tease about Matthew being so small, but her sister at thirteen had been a skinny, gawky girl, a child who had spurted up over the summer whose body hadn’t quite caught up. Mary had looked like a child, a tall child but what womanly curves she had were long in coming. If Kemal Pamuk had found that attractive, then he had been a sick man, attracted to children. “I’m sorry you didn’t have anyone to help you and support you.”

Mary returned the hug. “I had Matthew. You wondered what it was between us… It was this. He saved me from being arrested for murdering a Peacekeeper. He held me when I cried and told him I was ruined… and he said any man that had the gall to blame me for what Kemal had done was a fool and he’d marry me if people were so foolish as to judge me. He stood by me during the worst time of my life… I could hardly do less than stand by him during his worst time.” After a long moment, she broke off the embrace and wiped her eyes. “ We should head back. The sun is starting to set and Papa and Mama will worry if the servants report us both missing in the dead of winter.”

It was, Sybil realized, time to concede something as well. “I wasn’t against staying at the house… It just… The nightmares are worse when things are unsettled.”

“Then tell Mama that. She didn’t even know you were having trouble sleeping because you’ve been so closed off. She really thought she was offering you a convenience.” Mary took her hand as they walked. “Let her and Papa fuss a little bit.”

“Maybe you should let Mama and Papa fuss a little bit,” Sybil said carefully.

Mary shrugged. “Everyone goes through the fire eventually, Sybil. What you need to remember is that you’re a Crawley. When a Crawley goes through the fire, they don’t burn, they turn into steel.”

“Still…” Sybil let it drop as they walked through the snow. It had been a long miserable day and knowing her older sister had dealt with her own horrors had given her more than enough to think about.

  


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	18. Chapter 18 - An Interlude

The wedding planning wasn’t exactly a boring chore, but Matthew didn’t have much opinion on what the ceremony would be like or how the lengthy party afterward would be held. Oh, he wanted it to be lovely, because Mary wanted it to be lovely and she had always been so worried about getting married, and the closer it got the more he sensed that his mother had some feelings on the topic as well, but he didn’t care in the slightest what he wore for the wedding or who sat at what table. No, as he looked over each room in his house, it was the happily ever afterwards that concerned him. “There’s plenty of room for your things, Mary.”

“I know there’s room,” Mary said as she came up the stairs and joined him. “But I will be living here and you aren’t used to that so I think we should start to consider what that will look like.” She joined him and took his arm. “I know you don’t always sleep well, for example, so while we will share a bed and a bedroom, I accept you may have nights where you prefer to be alone. And you’re not a woman, and your mother isn’t required to attend a lot of landholder social functions so you really have no idea what my things constitute.”

“Well, you certainly can have a room for your clothes,” Matthew said, leading her into one of the rooms. “But to be frank, usually when I don’t sleep well, I… don’t like to be inside.” It was too confining to be inside. When the nightmares were bad, he usually felt like he was suffocating and confined.

“Do you still sleep on the back porch?” Mary asked conversationally. “I saw the futon there.”

“In the summer.” He felt oddly cautious about admitting it. At the same time, it was Mary, who knew he’d barely been functional for a long time. “In winter I use the glass conservatory where Mother and Mosesly grow our herbs and winter vegetables.” It was an expensive luxury, one that he’d been manipulated into adding onto the house when he was just months out of the games. It would be so nice with winter coming on to have fresh greens and flowers, his mother had said, and there was so much money. It wasn’t until much later that he realized she had been anticipating his problems.

Mary blinked, as if cataloguing his words for later. “Isn’t that still cold?”

“Not as cold,” he said easily. “The futon in there has flannel sheets, wool blankets, and a goose down comforter. Sometimes two comforters.” And sometimes he slept there not because he couldn’t sleep but because there was something glorious about wrapping himself up in warm fluffy bedding and watching the moon rise or the northern lights flicker. “Sometimes it’s lovely. You could join me… if you wanted.”

She giggled. “I question whether you would want me for me, or simply to act as an extra source of heat.”

He pulled her close, into an affectionate hug. “I feel suddenly cold….”

After a moment, she pushed him away. “Not until after the wedding! You do realize you’ve been granted far more access to your bride than my father is allowing poor Edith and Anthony.”

“I admit to being surprised by that,” he said as he led her into his bedroom. “I thought he and Anthony were good friends,” and he thought that because Anthony was one of the level heads in the resistance group that Robert listened to.

“It’s his age,” Mary said as she began looking in his wardrobe. “He doesn’t see Anthony as a perfectly acceptable man, he sees Anthony as his friend from school who dangled Edith on his knee.” Before he could stop her, she opened the wardrobe drawer where he kept the jewelry he was given by women in the Capitol. Her eyes widened at the many pieces and she pulled the drawer out and set it on the bed, to more properly rummage through it. “Matthew, you said they sometimes gave you jewelry, not that you were adorned like a prince with diamonds and sapphires. These are earrings!” She held up an especially gaudy earring. “How do you wear earrings??”

He took it from her. “It has cuffs, see?” He put it on, showing her how it looped over his ear. “Three years ago it started to be quite fashionable for men to wear ear cuffs on one ear that would match the lady’s jewels.” He gestured to the pile of broaches, lapel pins, rings, tie tacks, cufflinks, necklaces and watches. “If the piece isn’t expressly designed to match someone’s jewelry, I tend to get a lot of diamonds and sapphires because they offset my lovely eyes.” He hoped it sounded like he was good humored and amused about it. “Unfortunately hardly any of this can be worn here. It’s just too gaudy for a man, and I can’t get rid of it because I have to wear it at Capitol functions.” He picked up a particularly lovely wristwatch. “It really is a pity District Ten is so against wristwatches. They really are more convenient than pocket watches.”

“You have a fortune in jewelry, Matthew. I never thought I’d marry a man who had more jewelry than I.” Then she sighed and dropped the piece she’d been ogling back into the pile. “I’m sorry. It occurs to me that you might not find this amusing.”

He took a seat beside her on the bed. “It isn’t as terrible as you might think, you know.”

“You hate it,” she countered. “You’ve told me that.”

“Knowing that you’ll be here for me helps,” he said, taking her hand. “But… it really is mostly parties and when it’s not, it’s a woman who is pathetically grateful to hold a man’s attention, or a woman who is trying to feel young and pretty in a world where youth dominates. The Capitol isn’t like here. They’re obsessed with youth. Last year was different, because of Sybil… I had to be more accommodating.” He hesitated. “Frankly, this year will likely be similar, so that I can protect Sybil. She’ll be officially too young but so close….”

Mary sighed again. “And next year, my little sister will start accumulating her own collection of gaudy expensive jewelry.” She looked at him, her expression suddenly intent. “Would it be better if she was married by next year? I think the chauffeur does love her…”

“His name is Tom,” Matthew chided, “and he does love her, and it would put off the more decent among them. The problem is that….” He hesitated, uncertain of how much to share. Finally he said carefully, “President Snow fancies her. She thinks, and I agree, that he’s protecting her from offers, that he has intentions for her. That, and my being willing and friendly, will stop any offers this fall. That said, you need to think about more than just Sybil. Tom isn’t a stupid man. If you’re considering some manipulative game where you encourage him to marry Sybil before she’s eighteen, you’ll need to have your family completely willing. Tom worries more than he should that your parents won’t approve and won’t make any proposal until Sybil is eighteen. He’s a good fellow, but he has his pride. He’s not going to accept being treated like an unwanted piece of trash, particularly since you’re asking him to put himself and his own family in danger.”

“Mama likes him,” Mary offered after a moment. “Mama also sees the bigger problem, that she’s much less likely to be desired by a landholder or heir. Papa hasn’t internalized that yet, but Mama can convince him if it’s necessary.” She looked at him with sudden interest. “What would convince Tom we weren’t just using him?”

Matthew shrugged. “I don’t know. Your parents not sniffing in disgust at him might be a start. For what it’s worth, he’s clever and could learn to be more than a mechanic and driver if he was given a chance. The reality is that however much I don’t want it, I will be Earl of Grantham when your father dies. However I feel that things might change, at the end of the day that is the responsibility that looms for me, and I have no intention of Downton being the reason that the Capitol presses it’s thumb down on District Ten. That means it’s conceivable that I will be away at the Games during the harvest season and I will need an estate manager I trust. I want your father to have a long life and that gives him plenty of time to teach both Tom and I how to manage.”

“He can’t make the chauffeur the estate manager,” Mary said, almost an automatic objection. Then she seemed to finally consider it. “I can’t deny he’s clever enough… Would he agree to it?”

“He loves Sybil, so I think so,” Matthew said. “But he won’t agree at all if he thinks he’s being treated like a dirty little interloper who has to be given a job above his station merely because the lord’s daughter took a fancy to him.”

Mary gave him a harsh look. “If Sybil hadn’t volunteered, that’s exactly what he’d be.”

“Don’t be a snob. Our way of life is a more civilized replica of Panem’s, I see that more and more. You and I both know your father is an exception.” It was a point that irritated him. Robert, Strallan, and Merton were outliers among the lords of the manors. “Downton is a rarity. It’s not impossible for a farmer, a stock worker, or a laborer to at least feed themselves and not worry too much about freezing in winter. Someone who works hard can get ahead. Ask yourself what would have happened to the servant girl and worse, her family, if it had been some other lord’s daughter to volunteer out of silly sentiment?”

‘Do you plan to tear the system apart?” she asked as she nestled closer to him. Softly, in a near whisper she added, “If the revolution doesn’t come?”

He understood. The fact was, he hadn’t discussed any plans for the estate with her because he was certain by the time it came for him to assume the earldom, he suspected things would be already changed. “I want it to be an estate where people feel they are treated fairly and don’t have to worry that the slightest thing will get them turned off their land or worse. In other words I plan to continue your father’s work and encourage others to follow his and my example. That might mean taking it easy on throwing lavish parties during bad seasons, that’s your fair warning.”

“Then I should probably have the conservatory at the Abbey built before you slash the budget,” Mary said easily. “After all, we’ll spend more time there once we’re married and live there eventually… you’ll want a place to sleep.’ Then she kissed him, and his worries faded for the moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're about to jump a few months to the next Games, the 74th!


	19. Chapter 19 - The 74th Games Begin

It felt strange to have a Capitol porter from the train take her packed trunk. Stranger to be wearing a fancy Capitol styled dress that needed no corset to show off her figure, and the shamelessly high heels that made her inches taller. As she looked in the mirror, Sybil hated having to admit the alligator teeth necklace with its jewels and precious metal made her look both refined and exotic.

It especially felt strange to leave for the Reaping hours earlier than she was used to, and to take a spot in the waiting area where the local dignitaries of the district were prepped for the event. The other victors were there, including Hodges. He wasn’t coming to the Games. The Capitol had sent out a doctor to assess him and they had agreed that while the man still did well enough upon waking in the morning, by the time the afternoon rolled in, he was next to impossible to work with, even with a bevy of nurses to care for him. For now he seemed to be in what Isobel called ‘a bright phase’ where he seemed to know it was a formal occasion where he wouldn’t have to do much but sit and then have a nice glass of champagne. Her grandmother was in a slightly more modern dress than her typical fair, while Dicky and Matthew both were in tailored suits that had the more relaxed collars of Panem. She listened carefully as Clodia spoke since she suspected most of the instructions were for her sake. It didn’t seem that difficult at all, all they did for the Reaping ceremony was sit there and applaud at the appropriate moments.

That made it a surprise when Matthew pulled her aside for what was obviously another lecture on how to be a proper victor. “What is it,” she asked patiently, as the town square began to fill. “I don’t plan on volunteering again.”

“I wasn’t worried about that,” Matthew snapped. She realized suddenly that his temper was up, something none of them had seen since before the wedding in spring. “I wanted to give you a warning.” He held up his hand as she started to protest. “Sybil, please learn to shut up and listen before you assume I’m chastising you.” He gave her a dark glower. “This is about the tributes, not you.”

“Then what’s your warning?” She fought the urge to roll her eyes at him. Matthew had gotten better about actually discussing potential issues about the games instead of just letting her fall on her face but she wasn’t surprised he hadn’t bothered with his warning at the dinner at the Abbey the night before.

He seemed to sense her irritation. “You need to prepare yourself to not react when the names are called. It could be someone you know, a friend from school or someone who works on the estate. It could also be someone completely unsuited to compete. Like a 12 year old, for example. The last thing the tributes need to see is the victors acting like they’re already doomed.” He sniffed as he looked out over the milling crowd of teenagers. “Two of those children are about to have the worst day of their lives.  Our job is to provide them some hope.”

As they were led to their seats on the stage, Sybil felt her anger rising. It was worse being on the stage than being in the crowd of teenagers waiting worriedly, she hadn’t expected that at all. She could see her friends from school, she had withdrawn a great deal from her old schoolmates but she didn’t want to hear any of their names called. She could see Daisy and Gwen and the servants who were still young enough to participate. Please don’t be anyone I know, she suddenly prayed as Clodia began to root around in the bowl for a name. She was suddenly glad that she’d been isolated in the school for the highborn, that the odds were against her needing to mentor an old schoolmate.

Don’t react, she told herself as Clodia opened the paper, but she realized with relief that she didn’t know the girl, Judy Moorehouse. A stock worker’s daughter by her dress, sixteen or so, and not bad looking. Being pretty was an asset. Then the boy’s name was called and she was relieved again. Another name she didn’t recognize but then she heard the low murmur from the crowd. As the boy stepped into the open and walked towards the stage, she understood. He was limping, a rolling gait. Some sort of club foot. Her father always saw to it that money was found for a tenant’s child to have the repair surgery. Some lords didn’t care to help a tenant. She understood Matthew’s warning all too well as she kept her face expressionless. David Farthling was his name and he and the crowd were already certain he’d be dead within days.

He didn’t need to see that on her face as well, not if she was supposed to be mentoring him.

~*~

Matthew looked at his fancy wristwatch. “We’ll give them a few more minutes to settle down,” he told Sybil as they stood by the door to the train car where the tributes had been deposited. Violet had made it clear to him that they were instructing Sybil on how things were done. He had expected that, and to a point he preferred it. Dickie was always next to useless. Hodges, when he’d been mentally competent, had been good at setting the tributes at ease. He’d grudgingly shown Matthew how they did things and had made sure he didn’t commit any terrible errors in judgement. Matthew only hoped he managed to prevent Sybil from getting too attached.

“Why are we waiting?” Sybil asked, her voice cross. “You know they’re just miserable.”

“Yes, they are, and they’re frightened and they’re also kids who live on some of the worst estates. They’re both from Sitterly Manor. Lord Sitterly didn’t even wish them well.” Which was a pathetic lapse at best. Matthew waited a moment until it was clear Sybil didn’t see the second reason they were waiting. “We’re also waiting on the servants to bring them lunch. Then we go in, set them at ease and encourage them to eat, since god knows they probably really did have nothing but crusts for breakfast. You and William were both well fed, these two are not. They will probably dive on the food like they are starving once they realize they have permission to eat. Don’t make fun of their manners, don’t tell them to use silverware or napkins. They’ll just resent it, and at worse they’ll feel nervous about eating and the best thing they can do right now is stuff themselves silly for the hard times ahead. That means you and I both have to eat with them and encourage them and make them feel less awful about the fact that they’ll be dead in two weeks.”

Sybil’s eyes narrowed. “That’s… more cynical than I thought you were.”

“It’s your first games as a mentor,” he shot back. “It’s my eighth, and of the 16 tributes I’ve mentored, a grand total of one is alive. And let’s be clear, Sybil. The absolute best result of this year’s games is that one of those two tributes lives. One. Not both. They both can’t win. And the odds are not in their favor. The least we can do is be pleasant and encouraging.” He realized that she wasn’t getting it.

“You were hardly encouraging last year,” she said finally, as the servants walked past them with loaded trays of delicious looking sandwiches and snacks.

“If we’re going to rehash last year, then I remind you that you were a stupid fool who volunteered.” Matthew crossed his arms. “Sybil, this isn’t an easy job. Being a mentor is a tricky business. I’m treating you like an adult and I will explain why we’re doing what we’re doing as long as you’re willing to listen. We’re giving them time right now to get over the tears and the last words of their friends and families so they don’t feel they’ve shamed themselves by crying in front of the brave victors. We have food with them to put them at ease. These two will need that more than most because they know you and I are higher socially. You’re a lady and I will be a lord, and Violet is a countess and that will stress them out unless we make a point of setting them at ease. Your grandmother will tone it down a little, and Dickie is one of them, and you and I need to make them feel like they are one of us and not the dregs that Lord Sitterly treats his people like. We need them to listen to us because they need to understand that they have to put on a show if they want sponsors. They don’t have the advantage, such as it is, of being a volunteer from an outlying district. They don’t come from a lord or landholder family, so there’s no money there. Neither of them are stunning in the looks area and the boy can barely walk. I could probably sell myself at auction to the highest bidder and there still won’t be any interest from the Capitol in sponsoring them. They will need to be completely compliant with the stylists if they want any hope of help in the arena, so we need to make sure we encourage them. We need to be friendly, Sybil, even if they are difficult.” Judging by the sullen expression that had been on the boy’s face during the ceremony, Matthew suspected that David Farthling had already internalized how the odds were not in his favor in the slightest.

After a moment Sybil dropped her mask of irritation and smiled. “Were you difficult?”

“Not as a tribute.” He had been too terrified of Cousin Violet to get up to much mischief. And Lavinia had been a sweet girl. “But it does happen. Remember the Halloway boy, the gardener from Downton? I had to stop him from beating Dickie senseless with a chair. And fair warning, girls tend to throw plates and glasses. In contrast, I was quite well behaved.” He paused. “We should go in. I don’t mind teasing but don’t allude to what happens at parties. They don’t need to know that reality.” Particularly, Matthew thought tiredly, when they were both likely to be dead long before they would need to know what happens at Capitol parties.

~*~

Sybil was surprised at how different and similar the first dinner on the train with the tributes was. It was different in that David and Judy had almost lept on the lamb chops, keeping pace with Dickie as they gnawed on the bones and asked for more without hesitation. It was also different to see her grandmother not even raise an eyebrow at such things as teenagers licking their fingers. It was the same in that Matthew had barely touched his plate and was drinking a glass of scotch while Clodia mentioned a delightful desert she was having made. Matthew insisted both of the tributes and everyone at the table try a fancy, fruity, alcohol infused drink as they all moved to the viewing area to watch the Reaping summary. She had to admit, the pina colada was a treat.

She kept a careful eye on the view screen. District One and Two had their typical well fed, obviously well trained tributes. Three had two tributes that were similar to theirs. Four was a shocker in that there were no volunteers and the boy was a tiny, curly haired twelve year old that looked completely doomed. Districts Five through Nine held no surprises, similar tired and hungry looking sixteen and seventeen year olds. Eleven brought another tiny child, a dark skinned little girl. The boy was an eighteen year old giant, a contender. But it was District Twelve that held the surprise. First another tiny girl was called and then much to everyone’s surprise, including her own, an older girl ran out of the crowd and volunteered. The little girl’s sister, the announcer said cheerfully. Sybil could see the blood drain from her grandmother’s face. It was what Violet had done, volunteered for her crippled sister. She turned her attention back to the view screen in time to see the male tribute from Twelve, sturdy but nothing special.

“Well, that was… entertaining,” her grandmother said, sounding anything but entertained. She gestured to the two tributes, both of whom were yawning and struggling to keep their eyes open. “Tomorrow will be very busy for you two, so I recommend you get some rest. I believe we’ve recently established the tradition of ice cream before bed. Enjoy it, and go get some rest.”

Violet waited until the two of them were gone to continue. “Matthew, why don’t you get everyone a drink and we’ll discuss the plan.” Matthew quickly poured them all generous glasses of scotch and handed them out. Sybil set hers down without a sip. Matthew wasn’t quite drunk, she knew him well enough to know that, but she had picked up on the fact that he did drink a great deal more than normal when going to the Capitol. Violet sipped her drink. “I rather liked your trick with the drinks, Matthew. We’ll need to add that to the repertoire.”

That made her curious. “What was the trick?”

Matthew smiled. “Theirs’s were made with a lot more rum. They’re both from poor families, I doubt they’re ever had anything stronger than a beer at the pub. They’ll probably go to sleep in the next ten minutes and they won’t wake up until morning, which means they’ll be well rested for the stylists.”

“Sybil, we usually start discussing strategies and organizing this first night,” Violet’s tone was companionable. “I will take David. Matthew, you will mentor Judy. If we need to change, we can, but that’s how we’ll start. Sybil, you’ll assist Matthew and I and Dickie will float about as necessary. If you have questions, ask them, but take care to not ask in front of the tributes. They need to see us as confident. And try not to let them know your actual opinion of their chances.”

“I didn’t plan on saying they were doomed,” Sybil offered.

“They are,” Dickie muttered. “The girl doesn’t know about anything but tending cows and the boy is a cripple. They’re not going to be crowd favorites.” Dickie wasn’t drunk, she realized, but she had a feeling that would change soon enough.

“David is the obvious problem,” Matthew said easily. “Once the limp is revealed he’s not going to get any sponsors.” To Violet he added, “He seems clever. You should play up the idea that he might be able to trick some of the competition. And Judy seems like a pretty girl, the stylists will do their magic. If she has a good personality, she might get some attention.”

“Twelve’s female will garner the attention of those who like to bet on the outlier districts,” Violet added, “but Haymitch is a drunken mess. Matthew, have you had invitations already?”

Matthew nodded. “The usual sort. Several of the invites include Sybil.” He gave her a significant look. “All of those invites were very clear that Sybil was expected to be a guest with no obligation for… how did they term it? Ah yes, entertainment.” He looked morosely into his glass of whisky. “Apparently President Snow will be attending a few of these functions, so they’ll be a little less exuberant with the party favors. The downside is that the more conservative types tend to prefer betting on the sure things in District One and Two. And the girl from Twelve will get the longshot bets.”

Her grandmother sighed. “These two are pretty enough for the stylists to work with without being too unpleasant about their chances. And they both seem clever. I just think it will be a short Games for us this year. At least we won’t miss Edith’s wedding.” She stood up. “I am going to bed. Sybil, tomorrow will be busy for you as well. Not as busy as our tributes but I trust Matthew has explained the media events?”

Sybil nodded. It had made her feel silly, truthfully, because somehow it had never occurred to her that the victors did things other than wait around the Training Center. Even though she had seen the videos, more than once of her grandmother, Hodges, Dickie and Matthew wandering around various sites of interest in the Capitol, with other victors. Matthew said it was mostly in the early afternoons and that she would probably be the obvious target for interviews as they looked at the museums and parks and the extravagant zoo. Then they would hurry back to check on the tributes and have dinner with them. Then they would head out to parties where they would cheerfully encourage patrons to sponsor their tributes. Matthew would no doubt have assignations with some of the patrons and she would have to make conversation with Capitol residents.

Including President Snow. And President Snow was clearly taking care to pay her attention. As her grandmother left the train car, she found herself sipping the bitter, smoky whisky for the first time. She suddenly understood why Matthew wanted to numb himself from his upcoming reality. “How do you stand it? Having one of them… put their hands on you?”

Matthew sighed and looked almost as if he wanted to snap at her. Then he took a long drink from his glass, as if calming himself. Finally, his voice careful, “I remind myself that they have the power, Sybil.” He waited until she nodded that she understood he was talking about how the Capitol had the power to kill his family. His family and her family as well. She found herself shuddering and in seconds Matthew was holding her, murmuring that it would be all right.

She wasn’t as certain.

 

 


	20. Chapter 20 - New Secrets and Lies

The outfits weren’t terrible. The costume for District Ten usually came in one of several flavors. If there was a child connected to one of the lordly families as a tribute, the other tribute was always dressed up in some form of fancy dinner dress while the high born tribute was dressed in gaudy field worker or stock worker dress. It was no different this year, the two tributes were in silly cowboy hats and drover jackets that weren’t even worn in District Ten. For some reason, the people in the Capitol equated dairy farming with cattle drives. It wasn’t offensive or hideous, unlike the poor tributes from District Four and Eleven, and Judy and David looked pretty enough. From a looks standpoint, they would do well enough.

He was suspicious when he saw the tributes from Twelve dressed in sleek, black bodysuits. Twelve had a new stylist, and the female tribute was pretty and a volunteer to boot, and the male tribute was handsome as well. It was almost amusing really, their coloring reminded him of his wedding photos with Mary. They certainly weren’t a matched set but his mother and Cora had been so pleased in how their looks offset each other. He hadn’t seen it then, but he did in looking at the District Twelve tributes and he suspected that piece of luck would help them garner attention and sponsors.

When the stylist lit them on fire, all he could do was sigh. There was no way all eyes weren’t going to be riveted on the pair. As he looked on the view screens with Sybil, Dickie, and Violet, he could see he was right. Everyone was astounded and impressed, both with the District Twelve tributes looks and with the daring and incredibly on point costuming. It was clever and unique and their own tributes faded into the woodwork in response. “That’s brilliant costuming.”

“Meaningless in the Arena,” Violet nodded sagely, “but it will get them sponsors at our expense.”

“It’s clever,” Sybil said suddenly. “Its eye catching and unique. No one has ever done something like that… and it completely works. Instead of focusing on the coal mining, they’re focusing on the energy the district produces. It’s brilliant.”

“Remember to not be so impressed when the tributes are here,” Matthew warned gently. Sybil made a cross face at him but nodded. It was lucky that she was clever, he realized. It was rare for anyone dimwitted to win at the Games, there needed to be a certain minimal amount of animal cunning if nothing else, but Sybil was sharp enough to do a good job as a mentor. Hodges and Dickie both tended to flail about. The Games depressed them both, and Hodges had started to slip away mentally soon after Matthew had become a victor. Dickie was hit or miss on advice, he did better with the lower born tributes but his drinking got in the way of any sensible words. Violet was better at mentoring than she liked to admit. He could still remember her telling him that he would win if he had a reason to win. At the same time she had been nothing but firm with him, telling him what a fool he’d been to volunteer, that she felt sorry for his parents since they were most likely going to see him die in the next few weeks. It had been clever on her part, putting that image in his head. God knew it was the thing that kept him fighting long after the sheer terror left him.

The problem Sybil had, he realized as she congratulated young Judy and David, was that she was going to get attached to the tributes. He’d never had that problem. The first year he’d been a mentor, he’d been an unpleasant ogre to the poor tributes. They had been terrified of him, he was the scary victor who gouged eyes and who had gone mad. That had only made his anger worse, since he didn’t see himself as a terrible, scary person. Most of that games, when he wasn’t being led around to parties by older victors who explained what would be necessary when he was older, had been spent curled up in a ball in his lavish quarters, refusing to eat. It had been the second games he had mentored where Violet had insisted he apply some of his newly found calmness to the situation and be helpful. It would be nice, she had intoned in that dry way, if one of you men were useful in this process and the other two are too old to learn any new tricks. He had stepped up but there was rarely time for the tributes to become comfortable with him before they were sent to the Arena. The stories of his madness were still bandied about. Sybil in contrast was being friendly and chatty, and that was all well and good because it was helpful but he suspected she was going to be a mess when the games really started.

“You both did well,” Sybil said to the tributes. “Didn’t they, Matthew?”

“Absolutely,” he agreed. “Why don’t we head to the elevator and let our tributes get out of these costumes?” He wanted them to get moving before they noticed the attention the District 12 tributes were getting. The flaming costumes and the pretty, alluring young female volunteer pretty much assured that all the sponsors who liked betting on the outer districts would be betting on the tributes from District 12.

“Our quarters are lovely,” Sybil added. “You’ll each have your own room and bath and I am sure you’re probably hungry….” She was doing Clodia’s job, Matthew thought with concern. Clodia seemed amused by it, and Paulus and Aurelia, but it bothered him because it meant she was getting too involved. The sad truth was that in seven days it was likely that both of the tributes would be dead.

Don’t chide her in front of them, he reminded himself. That was something he had picked up from Violet as well. She was normally sharp tongued but at the Capitol, she never corrected him on his mentoring in front of tributes. It was a respect issue. Plus, she _was_ new to the job. He had never needed the ‘you need to protect yourself’ talk, the tributes rarely got past their fear of him before they were off to the Arena, but Sybil was a much different person. He waited until she had both of them settled in to pull her aside. “Sybil, a word, if you don’t mind.”

He pulled her into his bedroom and closed the door, marveling once again how the Capitol made them different people. In District Ten, he would be considered a total cad for being alone in his bedroom with a highborn underage girl. Sybil seemed to be amused by that as well.

“It’s lucky we’re cousins, Matthew,” she said as she took a seat on his bed. “And that you’re already married to my sister. Otherwise Papa would be very upset about the liberties you’re taking.”

He sat down in the armchair that was near the bed. “What happens in the Capitol stays in the Capitol, Sybil. You should know that by now.” That also reminded him that their evening wasn’t over, not by a long shot. “You need to back away from the tributes a bit. They’re not here to be your new friends. The absolute best resolution that happens here is that one of them comes back with us.”

“Yes, you’ve made that point before.” Sybil rolled her eyes at him. “I don’t see any reason to not be pleasant. Should I be emphasizing how we’re all certain they’ll both be dead within minutes of the Games starting?”

He marveled at her sharp tone. Is this when it comes, he wondered. He had admitted to Mary a certain amount of envy towards Sybil and how she handled being a victor. He knew she had nightmares, but they didn’t seem to plague her the way his nightmares had chased him. He also felt a certain anger that almost every comment people made about Sybil coping well was followed with a ‘not like Cousin Matthew’. He certainly hadn’t been declared hands off by the President of Panem until his majority, and the talk he’d received on the topic had been from Hodges, who had grunted out how it was a pity he had the Crawley good looks, and that their Capitol attendants would see to it that he had condoms but that some patrons would insist on riding bareback. Sometimes he wondered if Sybil ever even realized what he had done to help keep her safe. As it was, she had no idea how her feelings were danced around by everyone.

He forced those uncharitable thoughts away. Some of that was his own fault for not being honest with her about what he’d needed to do the year before, and she was likely to find out soon enough. “You’re not a school girl now. You’re a teacher. You aren’t here to tuck them into bed. If one of them is going to win, they need to start toughening up. Criers don’t win.”

“Neither do cripples,” Sybil said easily. “That was the first point you made in hedge school. The slow die first. Will you be telling David that?”

“If he needs it to be said, yes,” Matthew snapped. “But I suspect he already knows that. Don’t … don’t get attached. They’re not kittens and we can’t keep them or protect them from what’s going to happen.” She frowned and rolled her eyes, and he willed himself to not slap or shake her. She’s not your child, he reminded himself, and you’re not even that closely related. You can only give the advice, it’s her choice to take it or not. The two tributes with their sad, frightened eyes were going to break her into pieces and she was too stubborn to listen to him over it. I’ll need to warn Violet, he told himself. “You need to change. Junia Camilla has invited both of us to her traditional tribute parade party. She is looking forward to seeing you, especially since President Snow is deigning to stop in to the party merely to see you. She’s sent an outfit for you to wear. There’s jewelry. You have to wear it, it’s a gift, and I am quite certain it comes from President Snow.”

She looked stricken and he put his hand on her shoulder to steady her. “It’s not awful at all. Very school girl by Capitol standards. Lovely but conservative. It won’t even look shocking to anyone from District Ten if you’re caught on camera. And fortunately we don’t have to spend a lengthy amount of time at tonight’s party. Junia isn’t one to do more than extensive cocktails, conversation, and fancy appetizers. She also made it very clear that my duties and your duties would not be the same. You are there for conversation only, and everyone knows it.”

“Except President Snow.” Sybil’s voice shook as she spoke.

“I think it’s unlikely that he would ask at Junia Camilla’s party,” Matthew assured her. It really was unlikely. Junia was in her mid-forties, married to a man in his sixties who in his prime had been Head Games Designer. But… “If he asks, then do what he wants and remember that what happens in the Capitol stays in the Capitol. If you think I would tell tales to Mary or to your parents or to Tom, I won’t. Your grandmother won’t either, and neither would Dickie although I can’t imagine anyone asking him. I can keep secrets.”

“The way you kept Mary’s?” she asked. She blinked suddenly, as if realizing she’d said too much. She lowered her voice. “She told me… about what she did in the woods with you…”

“And I never told anyone that she kissed me on the lips and let me touch her,” he adlibbed loudly.  The very last thing they needed to talk about in the highly monitored training center quarters was how Mary killed a peacekeeper after the bastard raped her. “But we’re married now, so if you do want to tell people, they’ll mostly just laugh at how silly we were to be worried about getting caught kissing in the woods.” That was a much less murderous secret to have and it played to the Capitol’s prejudice that people in District 10 were repressed sexually and quick to be prudes. And the District 10 tendency to repress emotions made it easier to not punch Sybil silly for raising the damn topic in the worst place imaginable.

~*~

The dress was revealing but Sybil understood the point being made by whoever selected it. They didn’t wear Capitol clothes in District Ten but they did follow the fashions and the Capitol did have some morals about their own children. She was dressed as a hands off teenage girl. A very pretty hands off teenage girl, the dress complimented her looks quite well, but she was dressed as a child for all intents and purposes.

That didn’t mean she wasn’t allowed to drink and Junia stocked excellent champagne. Matthew looked surprisingly handsome in his Capitol styled suit. He’d been gifted with a gaudy pendant necklace and a ring with a matched earring, which seemed to be the fashion among men in the Capitol although she had the sense that it was more of a youth fashion and that Junia, a woman in her late forties, was trying to recapture her youth by parading around with a man half her age while dressing like a Capitol teenager herself. She had quickly grabbed Matthew’s arm and taken him away to one of the mansion’s many rooms. It would have worried Sybil, being alone at a party with strangers, but it really was a rather dull party. There were a few men smoking some sort of herbal based cigarette in one of the rooms and merrily debating the tributes and there was dancing and conversation, mostly about the Games but also about Capitol politics. She was flirted with, of course, and asked questions about the tributes. She tried to paint a positive picture but David’s limp was obvious, and most of the excited talk was about the District Twelve female tribute and the dazzling costumes.

Matthew managed to return after about an hour, looking rumpled and flustered. She could see the other women start to circle around him, but he waved them away as he came to her side. “Are you all right? I’ve…given enough attention to Junia that she has released me for the evening but judging by the looks I am getting, I’m expected to scatter my favors a bit.” He had a certain wide eyed look that made her wonder.

“Have you taken something? Cocaine perhaps?” Isobel had given her a lecture on the more common recreational drugs, and what they did. And how she suspected Matthew had a taste for coke.

He gave her a dark look. “Yes. I’m sorry if you don’t approve, Sybil.”

Let it go, she told herself as she bit back a curt retort. Remember that he’s had to do this for years, she thought, and he’s not saying no to anyone here because it keeps them from asking you for the same sort of favors. He had told Mary and his mother that he wasn’t going to take things as far as he had the previous year. I don’t have to have sex with three or four men tonight simply to keep my family alive, she reminded herself, and the only reason that’s the case is because Matthew is protecting you and because President Snow wants you for himself.

Even as she had the thought, there was a sudden rush of people making their way to the grand hallway of the house. It was a very modern seeming mansion but it had a similar layout to Downton Abbey, complete with a grand staircase. President Snow and his entourage had arrived and it was a huge entourage. Junia Camilla greeted them, fluttering with joy, no doubt immensely pleased that her party was being honored. She was struck suddenly by just how formal it all was. For a party that was already well into the wee hours, with participants in various states of dress, it was a surprise to see everyone line up to receive President Snow as formally as it would be done in District Ten. Snow’s eyes lingered over her and she wasn’t shocked to see him make his way to her and Matthew as soon as the formalities ended.

“Lady Sybil, Mr. Crawley, how lovely to see you both,” Snow intoned. He gave Matthew a look. He looked almost amused, and that made Sybil fearful. “Mr. Crawley, I believe Tertia Scipio and Cilla Belleforte are almost in a frenzy to show you pictures of their lovely new babies. Tertia had twin boys, a lovely matched set of victor babies… It doesn’t always work out that well. The District One victors never seem to pass their looks on. Fortunately you seem to pass the cleverness on. The Redfield boy, little Cedric, not only looks like you, but is impressing his teachers already and he’s only five. Why don’t you go say hello to them?”

Matthew looked stricken as he nodded and stepped away. Sybil struggled to keep the surprise off her face. The idea that Matthew had children with Capitol women was a shock, made worse that she suspected that was a secret Mary and Isobel didn’t know about. She also suspected that Snow was well aware of that particular omission. Which meant she had to be careful.

“I didn’t know such a thing was allowed,” she said, her words careful. “Everyone in the Capitol, forgive me, always seems faintly disgusted by those of us from the Districts.”

“It is a common prejudice, I agree,” Snow said as he took two glasses of champagne from a waiter and offered her one. She took it, Matthew’s advice resounding in her ears. Snow, for his part, seemed pleasant and jovial enough, although she sensed a certain nervousness. Is it possible that he’s genuinely attracted to me, she wondered. For an instant, as he smiled awkwardly at her, he reminded her of Tom when Tom had first been fumbling about trying to talk to her. He sipped his champagne and gestured to Matthew, who was talking with two older women who were showing him photographs. “But even District Twelve occasionally throws up a gem among the lumps of coal, and I’m not opposed to freshening the gene pool. Your… cousin, isn’t?” She nodded and he continued, “has the Capitol look, and is handsome, healthy, and smart, and there are women in the Capitol who want children and can’t have them with their husbands for one reason or another. One of my daughters is considering requesting his services. Her other choice is the lovely Finnick Odair, but I lean toward her choosing Matthew… the end results have been much better.”

“Matthew has several children here?” Of course he did, Snow had mentioned four already, one old enough to be in school.

“At least five obtained the traditional way,” Snow said with a smirk. “Last year, he agreed to put… samples in storage, something he had balked at previously.” He gave her a knowing look.

She understood in an instant. Along with going on multiple dates and entertaining more women than a male whore in order to get her sponsors and save her life, Matthew had agreed to donate sperm, despite not wanting children with any of the repellent women, in order to possibly save her life. All while he lived in terror of getting Mary pregnant since any child he had with his wife was in danger of being chosen for the Games. She spoke without thinking. “That’s very cruel of you.”

Snow smiled. “That’s very daring of you, Lady Sybil. But never fear, I’m not offended. I’m pleased you’re willing to speak your mind despite my obvious power over you. I do disagree that it’s entirely cruel. A man likes knowing he has a legacy. It would be a shame to lose such a fine genetic specimen to District Ten, and all of the children born here are and will be Capitol citizens… and not eligible to be chosen for the games. Considering District Ten’s predilection for family lines, I wonder if deep down your cousin isn’t relieved. The Crawley line will continue, regardless of who is chosen for the Games.”

“It doesn’t work that way,” Sybil said angrily. “And I somehow don’t think it works that way here, either.” She had watched enough Capitol television to know that while victors were generally popular, it seemed unlikely that Capitol citizens were that anxious to have babies with victors.

“You’ve never had to struggle to have a child,” Snow said, after a moment of thought. “And you’re not already married to someone who expects you to provide children, children who at least nominally look like the father. A victor with the right appearance is a perfect surrogate. They don’t live in the Capitol, they can’t claim the child without endangering it and damning it to a life of misery in the Districts… Correct me if I am wrong, but your family wouldn’t be well pleased if Matthew insisted on making it known that Cedric Redfield was his son? Cedric’s current father doesn’t even know, and of course it would mean ripping the poor boy from his family and sending him to District Ten.”

And that was another threat held over Matthew’s head, and she could admit a certain relief in knowing she would never have to bear a child for a Capitol family. “Are you telling me this for a reason?”

“Only to make the point that a victor’s responsibilities are more than simply showing up to the Games and throwing tributes into the Arena. This year, very little will be asked of you, Lady Sybil.” Snow’s eyes seemed to pierce her. “I suggest you enjoy the parties you’ll be invited to and keep your eyes and ears open. You’re clearly clever like your cousin and your grandmother, you’ll adapt well, like they have.”

“And then next year, I’ll be eighteen, and you’ll want me on your arm and more, and if I say no, something terrible will happen to my family.” She knew as she said it, that it was a dangerous, stupid thing to say, that she had probably crossed some terrible line.

She could see the shock on the old man’s face, shock he covered almost instantly. “Oh, Lady Sybil,” he finally said, “we really do need to have a private talk.” He took her arm and led her through the house to a large, surprisingly empty outdoor balcony that oversaw the city. He looked at her, expression intent. “Violet hasn’t told you, has she?”

“Told me what?” She suddenly dreaded what he would say, because she sensed whatever it was would be awful.

Snow smiled, his lips curling maliciously. “No, she didn’t tell you, did she? And I gave you the wrong impression when we last met. No doubt you think I’ve declared you hands off because I’m a disgusting old lecher who wants to deflower a pretty young victor. Am I right?”

There was no point in denying it. “Yes.”

His smile broadened. “I suppose that’s even fair, considering what’s asked of the prettier victors. But no, Sybil, that isn’t why I am protecting you. “He chuckled. “To be fair, I wasn’t entirely sure until last year, and I had to have the technician that did the DNA test killed but it was worth it to finally be certain.” He looked down at his nails, as if inspecting them. “The opportunity for blackmail was too great, I could see it in the fool’s eyes when he told me I was right.” His tone became pensive. “Violet might not have been certain… there’s no obvious likeness beyond the eyes.”

“What are you talking about?” Sybil asked.

“Your father’s eyes are blue, like mine. There’s even a bit of similarity in the face, but as I said, it’s not obvious. And the silly laws of District 10 made it necessary for Violet’s husband to have a son, and her second pregnancy was such that she could bear no more. If he had doubts, I’m sure he kept them to himself.” Snow cocked his head. “In fact you and I have similar eyes as well. That’s why I had your genes tested as part of your exam after the games. It was a shame you volunteered. I’m not terribly sentimental over by blows but I saw to it that your father and his half-sister weren’t pulled for the Games. I also saw to it that you and your sisters were never at risk. I even arranged for your mouthy and somewhat treasonous cousin Patrick to be Reaped just so people wouldn’t talk. But there wasn’t much I could do to stop you from volunteering.”

“You’re lying.” It was all she could think to say. At the same time, her mind was already racing because there was a likeness, and because it was strange that the obvious targets for the Games, her father and Aunt Rosamunde, were never chosen.

Snow shook his head. “It’s really not worth lying about, Sybil. I just wanted to relieve your anxiety. I have no intention of bedding you because we’re related by blood. Next year when you’re of age, I will have you to dine at my home, and it will be understood by others that you belong to me. No one will touch you unless you want to be touched. Of course you’re a victor and you’ll need to tend to your victor duties but for as long as I am alive, you and your children will be spared. I include your sisters in that, but I suggest you not tell them.” He smiled again, that malicious, knowing smile.

“I won’t.” Her face burned. She could never tell anyone. Not even Mary, or her father. Especially not her father. She knew all too well that he’d feel honor bound to relinquish Downton. To Matthew who really was the only legitimate heir, and that would be a huge issue, a catastrophic issue, in the District. It would devastate the entire family because it would immediately reduce them all to the status of peasants.  “I do want something though.”

“You’re not really in a position to make demands,” Snow intoned. “But I will listen.”

“Include Matthew in your protection.” She held up her hand to stop an inevitable protest. “I’m not a fool. You can’t turn back time, and you can’t change anything for this Games cycle. But no more putting Matthew out to stud. Whatever donations he made, have them destroyed. Perhaps start putting the word out that it’s time the ladies started acting their ages.”

Snow’s eyes tightened. “And why should I grant this favor?”

She leaned in close, keeping her voice down in case they were being listened to or recorded. “Because he’s married to your other bastard granddaughter, and torturing him tortures her. Would you like to know how often she’s wept over what he has to do here? The Games caused him to a nervous breakdown, and every year he has to perform like a chimp in a zoo, and Mary worries enormously about him. You’ll break him, you already have, really, and when he finally snaps and dies, you’ll kill her too. Do you want that?”

“The problem is that he’s a much more manageable little show pony than the other handsome victors. Still, you ask for so little and when you do, it’s a kindness to someone else.” His eyes twinkled with amusement. “It makes me question the genetic test, frankly.”

“You really should meet Mary sometime. Suddenly so much about her vicious side makes complete sense.” That was a lie, she knew exactly where her sister’s personality came from and it was only slightly influenced by the man standing before her, but she could also see that it fed his ego to hear it. “Will you do it?”

“Yes, with several caveats.” He looked out over the city. “I can’t change appointments already set for this Games. People would question it, find it strange. And you’re correct, I can’t turn back time but I could suggest to certain people that it’s best they be quiet about how their children resemble the District 10 victor. The donations can disappear easily enough. Accidents happen.  At 26 he’s getting a bit old to be the young sexy victor and next year, a year older and a year married… and several of this year’s tributes are good looking enough that if they win, they’d be the new big draw. And, of course, you can’t tell him.”

“Of course.” Not until they were home and outside, preferably far away from anything or anyone that could overhear them.

Snow turned back to face her. His smile was almost a snarl, and yet she could see a certain wry amusement cross his features. “Then I agree. And don’t sell yourself short, Sybil. I always wondered if one of my own could handle the Games. It’s good to know I was right. It’s a pity I can’t claim you.”

I will never feel bad about that, Sybil promised herself.

 


	21. Chapter 21 - A Psychological Problem

The tributes were quiet. Sybil wanted to ask questions, it was the day of the evaluations, and many people at the parties she had gone to made it clear that scores did indeed matter a great deal when it came to sponsorships, but Matthew, Violet, and even Dickie were all giving her that look as they led the two tributes to the elevator. She already had grown to loathe that look. It was the ‘shut your mouth and follow’ look. It irritated her. There was always something that wasn’t right about what she was doing, and the explanations didn’t always satisfy her curiosity. 

“We always dress in District Ten finery for the announcement of the scores,” Violet said to the two tributes. “As decency needs to be maintained, Lady Sybil will assist Miss Moorehouse in getting dressed, and Mr. Crawley will assist Mr. Farthling.”

Sybil could see the shy pleasure in both tributes over being addressed as adults. “Judy, let’s go look at the dresses and see which one you want to wear.” She hoped being able to pick something to wear instead of being told what to put on would be a pleasant surprise. She knew from experience that Aurelia and Paullus the District Ten stylists could be bossy. As it was, they were both still sulking over how the new District 12 stylist had outshone them all.

Judy was suitably impressed with the eight frocks. She wanted to try on each one and twirl in it and ask Sybil’s opinion. Sybil took pictures with a camera so that she could see herself and for a good hour it was like getting ready for a real party. Sybil was pleased that her grandmother had been right on the point she’d made earlier, that Judy would at least enjoy trying on all the finery.

“I think you should wear the red one,” Sybil said, laughing as Judy pondered the row of dresses. She showed the younger girl the picture on the digital camera. “See how pretty you look?”

Judy smiled and nodded, her expression shy. “I never thought I’d ever get to wear such fine dresses, milady.” The girl hesitated and looked down at her hands. “You’re very kind, Lady Sybil… May I ask you a favor?”

It was clear that the girl had screwed up her courage to ask, and as much as it worried her to see how fearful Judy was of her, Sybil didn’t take her to task. Judy was a product of her world, and Judy was a peasant worker’s child, who was, before the games, destined to be a peasant worker herself. Worse, based on her wide eyed looks, Sybil had a feeling that Judy was too overwhelmed by the splendor of the Capitol to really understand what was coming in the Arena. “What is it, Judy?”

Judy blushed and looked down at her hands. “It’s just… I never wore something so nice. My mum always wanted to get me something pretty… After the Games… will you show these pictures to my mum? She’s always wanted to see me in District Ten finery, not the Capitol costumes they make us wear.”

Sybil felt her heart clench up. “Of course Judy but… don’t you want to show her these pictures yourself?”

Judy shook her head. “I’m not going home, Lady Sybil. Murder is a sin. My family would never have me back in the home if I did the things you did. We believe violence is against God. When the Games start… I’m going to the Cornucopia.”

“That’s suicide, Judy!” Sybil couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “You have a chance! You can’t throw your life away!” 

Suddenly Violet was at the entrance of Judy’s quarters. “Lady Sybil, we don’t shout at the tributes. I know your mother taught you better manners than that.” She gave Judy a pleased nod. “That is a lovely frock, Miss Moorehouse. Why don’t you join us in the living area? While Lady Sybil gets herself ready?”

If anything , her grandmother’s words infuriated her even more, because it smacked of yet another moment where she was being treated like an incompetent idiot. Made worse that she knew in her heart that she wasn’t wrong to be appalled that Judy wasn’t planning to fight. But it wasn’t worth the fight with her grandmother, not when she was already angry about so many secrets being kept.

“Fine,” she snapped. She looked at Judy, her eyes almost striking a blow on the poor girl, her intensity was that fierce. “Judy, I apologize for disagreeing with you.” She rose to her feet quickly. “Judy, you have my word that no matter how the Games end, your family will get to see these pictures. I will even have copies made. Now, since dinner is still being prepared, I think I will go up to the rooftop garden for a few moments of quiet.” So I can scream my frustration to the plants, she thought as she stomped out.

~*~

The view on the roof really was excellent, Matthew mused as he stepped out of the elevator. Sybil was on the far side of the garden, staring out over the capitol city. She wasn’t crying, he wasn’t sure if that was good or bad, but he was willing to take what he could get. He walked up to her and took position beside her, letting his hands rest on the railing next to hers. “Dinner is soon and you’re not drunk or high so you do need to attend.”

“Maybe I am planning to get drunk or high. Or both,” Sybil muttered. “What then?”

“Then I recommend doing it here, and I really recommend picking a vice and not mixing them. If you have a night of debauchery outside the Training Center, it will show up on the news, especially since you’re the newest victor to fall. The Avox attendants will bring whatever you like but I do suggest avoiding morfa. It’s addictive and it’s hard to get in District Ten and frankly I mostly ended up vomiting from it and I’m told that’s a family tendency. Also my mother will ignore any talk of you being drunk but if you come back strung out on morfa she will tell your parents.”

Sybil sniffed. “What does your mother say to you? What did she say last year?”

Matthew shrugged. “In general, she says if I want to kill myself with drugs, that she will move out of my house because she won’t be a party to it. Reggie said something similar, that I would always have an excuse so I needed to decide if I was going to let the Games and the Capitol kill me or not. So I restrain myself and I don’t indulge except when I am here, and I try to not appear on television while drunk or high.” He hesitated. “Last year was different. She gave me carte blanche to do whatever was necessary to help you. Your grandmother told me to do whatever I was asked as long as I thought it would help you. When we got home, my mother told me quite bluntly that I was lucky I didn’t have a heart attack from snorting so much cocaine and there were two reasons she wasn’t going to make good on her previous threat.” At Sybil’s raised eyebrows, he added, “it saved your life, which we all wanted, and cocaine is impossible to get in District Ten. Now what did Judy say that upset you so?”

He had a feeling he knew. Judy was a pretty easy read, and David had already mentioned how religious her family was, in the version of the faith that abhorred violence. 

“She… she doesn’t even plan to try.” Sybil’s voice shook. “How can she not even want to try? She isn’t big but she isn’t small either, and she doesn’t have to accept death. She has a better chance than David and I know he’s been pestering us both for ideas of what to do…” She took in his expression and frowned at him. “What? What am I missing *now*?”

He sighed and looked out over the city. “Sybil… the games are a death sentence. Judy knows that, and Judy is a member of that church sect that believes in never raising a hand towards another human being. They’re gentle souls and they think if they fight, they’re angering God. You know how strict they are, if Judy harms someone in the Games, she’s damning herself to hell. You might as well expect her to do magic as fight.” And Judy hadn’t hesitated to show her faith, it was a symptom of Sybil’s denial that she was finally internalizing what Judy’s religious faith meant.

Sybil shook just a little, as though she was shivering. He didn’t touch her, he suspected she would react badly. Finally she said softly, “She made it sound like by living, by killing to live, that I was somehow less. That I was dirty.”

How best to answer, he mused. “To her, we are. Oh, we’re the cream of District Ten society but we’re dirty killers. That’s how she is justifying not saving herself. You and I? To her? We’re killers, we’re damned, and in order to keep right with her god, she has to fight the instinct to fight at all. And she’s going to die in seconds when she enters the Arena tomorrow and you and I and Dickie and your grandmother? Can’t stop her. We can only grant her some respect in her last hours. That’s why Violet told you not to argue with her over it. We’re killers. We have the instinct to kill, and that’s not a bad thing in this world. If we had the time to break through years of church going, Judy might develop the instincts but we don’t have that kind of time. And that’s too bad, because she’s the better candidate but… it’s not within our control. Judy has made her decision on how she intends to play the Game. She’ll be dead in two days. Tonight will be one of her last enjoyable meals. You can let her have that small pleasure or you can scowl and be difficult all evening.”

“It’s suicide, Matthew. She’s committing suicide.” Sybil spat it out like she had poison in her mouth. It cheered him, oddly.

“In a way, it is,” he agreed, “but it’s her choice. Not yours and not mine. The reality is that some tributes curl up and die. We can’t prevent that. Accept that. And accept that we’ve all had that moment with a tribute who has made the decision to go quietly into that good night. You’re not in control of this. If Judy doesn’t want to fight to live, you and I can’t make her. We can only offer advise.”

“She’ll die,” Sybil offered meekly. “I can’t wrap my head around not even trying to convince her otherwise…”

“Let it go, Sybil. Accept that you didn’t choose Judy for this, and you can’t volunteer to save her. If she decides to head to the Cornucopia at the start of the Games… We’ve both told her that it’s a bad idea, a death sentence.” He sighed again. “It’s actually quite common for tributes to be suicidal. You know it’s impossible to jump off this building, correct? There’s a force field. It would throw you back up on the roof. They monitor the mentors as well. Not at home, but definitely here. It’s bad for ratings for a mentor to die during the Games.” He didn’t think she was seriously considering it as an option, but she had gone up to the roof. And experience had taught him that it was better to talk about it. He didn’t think she was there yet, he was hoping the talk would shock her back to her normal good sense.

And it worked. She spun around to look at him. “That… that never even crossed my mind, Matthew. Does that happen a lot?”

“Victors generally don’t make it past their forties. Trust me, my mother keeps track of the suicides and drug overdoses. Other than your grandmother and Hodges, there’s what? That woman in District Four. And that’s about it. The career district victors tend to suicide in their fifties, drug overdoses mostly. They tend to see getting older as failure since they can’t maintain themselves as victors in peak condition forever. The rest? You and I are the rarities in that we weren’t starving before the Games, and a lot of victors feel guilty over killing people and being rewarded with a fancy house and a lifetime income. And a lot of them can’t cope with coming here every year and reliving it and seeing tributes die.”

She nodded and bit her lip nervously. “Did… did you ever consider it?”

“Never seriously.” It almost made him laugh, because it was the one heartache he never inflicted on his mother. “I won’t lie and say it’s never crossed my mind, but it would leave my mother alone, and now it would leave Mary alone, and I could never intentionally do that to either of them. The few times I was close, it was knowing that my mother would be the one to have to clean up my blood off the floor that stopped me.” He sighed again. “Reggie Swire was the one who pointed that home truth out to me, along with a lot of others. He was a good friend to me, for someone who wasn’t a victor, he had a keen insight into the problems of being a victor and he had a way of talking about it that made me listen. He did a much better job than I am doing.”

“You aren’t doing a bad job,” Sybil said after a long moment. She smiled shyly at him, pleased, he thought, that he was taking her seriously. “I think… I just didn’t realize that some people would just… give up. I mean… The last thing Papa said to me, after the Reaping, was to do whatever it took to come back…”

That was a surprise but a welcome one. He had wondered how Robert had reacted and it was good to know that Sybil had no problems from that end. “So understand that Judy’s parents likely said good bye and that they would see her in heaven. Now, let’s go downstairs and enjoy the fancy dinner. We’re having crab and steak, both of which I actually enjoy, and some sort of ridiculous seafood platter.”

“You? Wanting to eat a meal at the Capitol?” Sybil smirked as she stepped away from the railing.

He smiled in return and took her arm. “David asked me for suggestions so I suggested everything I like to eat. So filet mignon, king crab legs, sautéed mushrooms and asparagus will grace our plates. I used my status as mentor to finally get an advantage. Poor David, the only thing he was curious about was crab, so I ordered the seafood platter so he can at least sample some new things. Shrimp is always a tribute pleaser, I’ve learned.”

“Unless one of them has a shellfish allergy,” Sybil intoned.

“No need to worry. They test for it in the first stylist rounds. That’s one of the blood tests.” Matthew was amused to see she was actually surprised by that. 

“I knew they tested our blood but why would they test our blood for that?” Sybil asked as they headed back to the elevator.

“It’s for very cynical purposes,” Matthew admitted. At her questioning glance, he added, “Shellfish allergy is one of the most unassuming deaths one can have in the arena. Right up there with freezing to death or tripping over a rock and accidently breaking your neck.” And I have earned my steak dinner tonight, he told himself. He was glad it wasn’t worse. He had worried when Violet told him she went up to the roof that she was going to do something dramatic. Perhaps, he thought as the elevator closed, it’s time to give a compliment. “You’re handling this very well, you know. It’s not an easy job and none of your teachers are especially patient or wise.”

“Thank you,” she said. She met his eyes, her face firm. “But I disagree. I have excellent teachers. You should stop being so hard on yourself, Matthew. You’re a good teacher, and not just to me. Papa says he gets nothing but compliments over the hedge school, that people wish you’d do the class more than once a week. Even Tom thinks you’re excellent in instructing him how to keep on Papa’s good side. You’re always telling me, I don’t have to let the games define me, you should consider applying that advice to yourself, Matthew.”

He knew when he was beat. “Point taken.”


	22. Chapter 22 - The 74th Games Begin

Once Judy was handed over to Paullus for her final styling, and was on her way, Violet took Sybil’s hand and pulled her to the door. “There’s a viewing party here,” her grandmother said as she gestured to the Peacekeeper with them to escort them down the long hallway of the Arena facility. “With the other victors.” Violet pursed her lips in disapproval. “There’s a custom at this party that I don’t especially care for but that we participate in because it’s required. I don’t want you to be shocked by it.”

Sybil nodded as they entered the elevator. She was glad for once to realize Matthew at least had improved on telling her what to watch out for less than three seconds before she was thrust into the situation. “Matthew mentioned the betting game, Granny. I agree it’s in poor taste, but I won’t flinch.”

“Good,” Violet said firmly. “Because the other victors are watching you. Be friendly. It doesn’t hurt to have allies. Did Matthew explain the rules?”

There only seemed to be one that was important, but Sybil didn’t say that out loud. “No picking your own district,” that was the important rule according to Matthew,” and no laughing at the victors from the districts that lose both tributes in the Cornucopia.” It was apparently a rule often mocked by the Career victors but Matthew said they nominally abided by it.

“If for some reason you win, try to act pleased.” Her grandmother hesitated. “If both of the tributes are killed in the Cornucopia, please try not to cry. I know you’re a kind woman, Sybil, you don’t need to prove it by shedding tears in front of these people. None of them will appreciate your warm heart”

“Granny, is it terribly important that I make a good impression?” The elevator door opened as she spoke, revealing Matthew and Dickie, who were clearly waiting for them. They both smiled and Dickie fell in beside Violet while Matthew came up beside her.

“It doesn’t hurt to make friends,” her grandmother admitted as they all walked. “You will likely be interacting with some of them for years.”

“What kind of impression did you make?” she asked Matthew. She didn’t bother probing her grandmother, her grandmother was one of the first victors and most of the victors close to her age were dead. And Dickie had made it clear on the Victory Tour that he fell in with whoever drank. That meant Dickie would be with Haymitch from Twelve for the duration, and the two victors from Five who always seemed to be drugged.

Matthew waved his hand dismissively. “Oh, I gave a terrible performance. I think I was dragged in by the scruff of my shirt by Hodges, and he told everyone to let me sit in the corner under the table and rock myself while curled up in a ball since I was such a mentally defective waste of space. Everyone made fun and then ignored me.”

“Hey now,” Dickie said, his expression amused but slightly hurt. “Who brought you a drink? And told Hodges not to be so mean? And that girl brought you a plate? Seems like I remember someone cheerfully tucking in instead of being a whiny baby once no one was watching.”

“Once I was safe in my table fort, I was fine,” Matthew said with a laugh. “And Dickie, my apologies, you were the true hero then. And I can only pray that they have those delicious buns again.”

“They usually do,” Violet muttered, “Since you and that girl from Four stuff yourselves silly with them.” To Sybil she added, “It’s some sort of District Four delicacy, little buns stuffed full of pork in a sauce. Matthew’s first year, the poor thing was happy to join him on the floor under the table. Or the floor. That’s where they end up half the time. I think the poor girl is simple minded.”

“She has a name, Violet,” Matthew said crossly. “It’s Annie and she’s not simple minded, she’s traumatized, and she’s gotten much better but some people tease her so if I do choose to sit on the floor next to her, don’t be mean. It’s understood that she’s much more troubled than I, so she was really trying to show me a kindness.” More cheerfully, to Sybil, he added, “It doesn’t hurt to socialize here, Sybil. It’s nice to know people at the parties. Just remember, this isn’t a fancy crowd. And try not to be off put by the Careers.”

They weren’t the last ones in, that was the Careers from Two, seven of them, sleek and smug. For all that the room was modern and much more utilitarian in feel, Sybil realized in an instant that it was set up almost exactly as the viewing parties at Downton. The chairs were arranged around the view screen, and there were tables up against the wall with a grand buffet of food and drink and Avox servants to tend them. Many of the victors were merrily filling their plates, and certainly filling their glasses. Dickie went right to the bar, and Matthew followed him, although the younger man quickly returned with drinks of whiskey for her and her grandmother. The Careers were loudly discussing the tributes while standing in front of the large white board that was clearly set up for the betting game. Several of the victors she had been introduced to, either on the Victory tour or at various parties, nodded to her or waved. Violet led her over to the betting board. The District One victor that was taking down the bets, a tall handsome man likely in his late thirties but still keeping himself fit, eyed the three of them. Gloss, Sybil remembered. People in District One had strange naming conventions, but she had to admit, his entire body, face and hair had a sort of polished look that did indeed look glossy.

“What is District Ten’s pick for first kill?” Gloss asked, pleasant but bored. Sybil glanced at the board, realizing instantly that a full half of the victors thought poor David was going to be the first killed. 

“Why don’t you pick, Sybil?” her grandmother asked. Violet gave Gloss a look that was somewhere between flirty and amused. “I’m not allowed to pick for District Ten anymore.”

“You’re too good, milady,” Gloss said with a laugh, doing a better than average attempt at a District Ten accent. “And this is a room full of victors, they get antsy when they don’t get to win occasionally. So what is District Ten’s choice?”

Violet shrugged and walked over to a small cluster of older victors. Sybil looked for Matthew but he was talking with the women from District Four, putting on a show of taking Annie to a seat and bringing her a plate of snacks, little white buns, the special snack they enjoyed. It was always odd to see Matthew turn on his ‘perfect little gentleman’ side, but Sybil sensed it was genuine on his part. He remembered when people showed him kindness, and the woman from Four seemed to tremble even as she spoke to Matthew. Sybil turned back to Gloss and took a deep breath. “The boy from Eight.”

Gloss wrote it on the board. Then he changed District One’s choice to the boy from Eight as well. “I like winning,” he sneered, “and Crawleys seem to have the sight. Now who will win?”

“The girl from Twelve.” She said it without any consideration. It was a gut reaction but she felt it in her bones that the volunteer from Twelve would win.

Gloss laughed. “I can’t bet for my own but we’re fielding some talent this year. Better than last year’s.” His eyes appraised her, and he clearly found her lacking. “I still don’t understand how you got the drop on Sapphire.”

He’s saying this to needle you, Sybil told herself as she clenched her fists and fought the rising memory back. He knows exactly what he’s doing, he’s invoking the memory of your games because he wants you to have an embarrassing breakdown. Because the Career victors look down on the outlying district victors. Because it bothers him that no matter how much they train, when a Crawley from District Ten raised their hand, their handpicked trained tributes went down. She let a smile come to her face. “I won because she let her anger deprive her of any good sense. In a straight physical contest, she should have won. She died because she was arrogant and because she stupidly assumed that her having a sword meant that I was defenseless.” She paused. “I wasn’t. That’s why I’m here and she isn’t.”

“She made a mistake,” Gloss shot back, his eyes blazing. She held her ground but wasn’t sure what do next. She had no interest in fighting the man and he was puffing up like he was ready to hit her.

“Stop bitching, Gloss,” slurred a voice behind her. She turned around, to see Haymitch Abernathy, from District 12 standing behind her. He was wearing a nice suit and was relatively clean, a change from the last time they’d met and he was holding a glass of whiskey in one hand while he pointed at Gloss with the other. “And stop being pissy over the creepy Crawleys. It’s your own damn fault.” He winked at Sybil, like a conspirator. “He’s just mad that he bragged to us all last year that you’d be dead in the Cornucopia fight. Put me down for the boy from Four as first kill and boy from Eleven for the win.” Haymitch then held out his arm to her. “Join me, Lady Sybil?”

“Of course, Mr. Abernathy.” He was rescuing her, she understood that completely, and she accepted the help. He led her over to one of the chairs and they sat down. “Thank you, Mr. Abernathy,” she said easily. “I wasn’t sure how to… defuse that.”

Haymitch took a long, deep swallow from his glass of whiskey. “He’s an asshole,” he said with a nod towards Gloss. “And he has a nasty temper, and he gets pissy with everyone who beats his little killer robots.” He looked her in the eye, and she realized suddenly that while he reeked of whiskey, he was clear headed and focused. “Satisfy my curiosity. Why did you pick my tribute to win?”

“Because…” Sybil thought about it carefully. “Because she seems very clever and strong and because I think she has a reason to win. Why do you ask?”

He seemed to stare into her soul. Then he pointed at Gloss. “Because of what he said. You know why we all call you the creepy Crawleys?”

“I assumed it was that victors tend to be emotionally arrested at the age they won the games so I can’t say I’m surprised to hear a taunt I first heard when I was five in the schoolyard,” Sybil retorted. “Although I admit, it seems odd.”

Haymitch smirked at her. “You’re a smart ass little bitch, just like the eye gouger. I assume that runs in the family too.” He paused a moment. “We don’t let Violet pick first loser and winner, because she wins too much. We stopped letting your brother/uncle/boyfriend pick after he won three years in a row. Crawleys have the sight. That’s why Gloss changed his answer.” He raised his glass to her in a mockery of a toast. “That is why I was curious.”

She realized suddenly that he wasn’t lying, that he wanted his tribute to win, and took her words as added proof that his own gut instinct was right. “Trust me, Mr. Abernathy, we don’t have the sight.”

He nodded although she was certain he didn’t accept her words. “Probably not. But you did each volunteer, which tells me that crazy Crawleys is also appropriate.” He grinned as he sipped his drink. “You know what we say in District 12? Families that breed together too much go crazy. What is the eye gouger again? Your brother, your husband, and your uncle?”

Teasing, and not gentle teasing but also not hateful. She decided to let it pass. “Matthew is my third cousin. He’s also my brother in law and my father’s heir to the title of earl. Which I suspect you knew.”

“I did,” Haymitch admitted. “But it’s fun to yank your chain. If it helps, you remind me of my female tribute, and that makes me think she’ll win.” He gestured to the various victors who were all taking seats. “It looks like the fun is about to start.”

She held her breathe as the timer on the screen clicked down. She spared a glance around the room and was surprised at the number of people who had lowered their heads or closed their eyes. Even a few of the Careers were doing it, or bracing themselves in their chairs. Matthew and Violet were both watching but she could see their knuckles whiten as they gripped their glasses. The woman from Four was sitting next to Matthew but was clutching her fellow Finnick Odair, the handsome victor from Four. The handsome victor, Sybil realized suddenly, who had won at a younger age than Matthew and who had to do the same things Matthew did. She felt suddenly guilty. Her plan to rescue Matthew would work, she had no doubt of that, but she suspected that meant more pain for Odair. Matthew is right, she realized suddenly, all the victors are damaged souls, in one way or the other.

The screen displayed the victors in a half circle on the pedestals. It was a forest setting, she realized. Those were always considered a bit bland but the rumor was that Seneca Crane had opted for a basic, traditional setting for the 74th Games because planning was already in a frenzied state for the extravaganza of the coming Quarter Quell. Sybil jumped when the timer hit zero and sounded the start, and almost smiled at how everyone in the room started as well. She crossed her fingers as the tributes began to run, keeping her eyes on Judy, but it seemed like Judy went down within seconds. Don’t cry, she reminded herself, pinching the skin between her thumb and finger to distract herself. You knew she didn’t have a chance, that she wasn’t going to fight. She looked for David, just in time to see the teen grab one of the sacks of supplies and limp off into the forest. She felt a wave of relief, even as the bloodshed dramatically increased as the Career tributes gained access to the weapons. David got away, and Matthew had been seriously working with him to teach him various tricks of survival. The boy had a chance at least. 

In minutes though, they were down to the Career tributes mopping up the stragglers. She was surprised that the male tribute from Twelve was cozy with the Careers but she decided it wasn’t her place to ask Haymitch about it. Her grandmother had warned her against that strategy, aligning with the Careers, because they tended to turn on outsiders. She patted Haymitch’s knee in a friendly way. “Your girl got away and your boy seems to have an alliance so both survived the Cornucopia. Congratulations.”

“You get some congrats too,” Haymitch offered dryly. “Not only did your male tribute manage to survive and ruin the bets of most of our fellow victors, you won the prize.”

“No, it was Judy who went down first,” Sybil protested, but Haymitch shook his head.

“She was number two by five seconds,” Haymitch pointed to the viewscreen that was already flashing stats. Sure enough, the first kill had been the boy from eight, the one she chose at random. Haymitch smirked at her. “Thank you for the good omen, Sybil.”


	23. Chapter 23 - In For a Penny...

Violet sighed as the two tributes from District Two circled around poor David, taunting him about his bad leg. Taunting was bad form. As much as she accepted the reality that the Games had no rules, she didn’t like it when tributes drew out the inevitable, the way the two from Two were doing. Vicious little killers, the both of them, and not for the first time she wondered how horrible their schooling was and how any sane parent could want that for a child. The two were playing a sick game of shoving David between them and cutting him with their blades with each shove. Playing with the poor boy’s life instead of just finishing it, she was suddenly glad that Matthew was out, attempting to procure another sponsor instead of watching it with her, Sybil, and Dickie. 

Then the elevator chimed and Matthew stepped into the large living quarters. Of course, Violet thought darkly, of course it has to be like this. Worse in that as David continued to survive, she suspected Matthew had gotten his hopes up that the boy’s tactic of hiding and avoiding the dramatics of the District 12 pair would work. Matthew walked to the viewing area, his Capitol clothes disheveled but his face bright. “I got another sponsor…” Then his eyes took in what was happening on screen. Worse that it took another ten minutes before the tributes from Two finally got bored with torturing the boy and gutted him like a wounded animal.

She locked eyes with Matthew. Keep it together, she thought at him. She knew why it was upsetting to him, but she also knew from Sybil’s expression of disgust and horror that Sybil had no idea what button had just been pressed. That was a surprise, but it also meant that Sybil would be no help and Dickie was too drunk to really understand much beyond their last tribute being dead and that they would be going home soon. “Unfortunately it looks like your efforts were wasted.”

His hands clenched into white knuckled fists. “Yes, I suppose it was,” he said almost through clenched teeth. “We’ll need to stay for the next four days at least. I have appointments.”

He was forcing himself to be calm, Violet recognized the signs. And he was making small talk to collect himself. Which means I need to let him, she told herself. “The sun is about to set. Why don’t you take in the view from the roof top garden?”

Sybil gave them both odd searching looks but held her tongue until Matthew was in the elevator. “What am I missing? He was upset about David… why did you send him away?” Sybil looked at her and then Dickie. “Stop treating me like I’m a four year old. What’s going on?”

Dickie gulped down his drink. “Forgive me, Lady Sybil,” he slurred, “I didn’t know you’d never watched his games.”

“The beginning only,” Sybil said after a moment. “Because it was required but my parents thought I was too young for the rest. And I’ve seen the end, the eye gouging. Because they replay it all the time.”

Dickie shrugged and gave Violet a look. She nodded for Dickie to go on. Dickie turned to Sybil. He gestured with his glass. “You know he holds a record for the most personal kills in the games, didn’t you?”

“I didn’t know we kept track of such things.” Sybil’s tone was dark with anger.

“The Capitol does. And they distinguish between individual kills and group kills.” Dickie smirked. “That’s why the Careers don’t brag about it, because their kills are mostly group kills. The downside of running in a pack. You and I and Hodges have three each. The Countess used to hold the record at five.” Sybil nodded, and Violet crumbled just a little at the notion that Sybil was neither shocked nor surprised at that.

Dickie went on. “Matthew got six. He got one by stick fighting him off a cliff, he got a girl by pretending to be hurt and hitting her in the head with a rock, the damn eye gouging, and one girl with that tree trunk trap… And then the two boys.” Dickie took a long drink of whiskey. “I don’t like it when they gang up. I forget what districts they were.” He took another drink. Violet resigned herself to the reality that she would need to be the one that helped the Avox servants. She also could knew that while Dickie tried to teach Sybil how to best find her way, he was mostly an example of what not to do. 

“They did something like what we just saw, Sybil.” Violet sighed and sipped her own drink. “They were both bigger and they shoved him between each other and beat him and humiliated him because they were bigger and then they started arguing with each other over the next vile thing they were going to do and Matthew…. Matthew got out of the rope they had tied him up with and stabbed them with the knife they’d set aside when they started to play their games with him.” Her own surprise had shocked her and shamed her, which was why she didn’t like recalling the memory. She had already been forming the sad speech she was going to give Reginald and Isobel when Matthew leapt up from the ground like a filthy little demon and slashed the one boy’s throat before either even knew he’d gotten untied. Then he stabbed the other boy and ran before the body even fell. Until then, she had thought he lacked the will to win. The first kill he’d made, stick fighting until the other boy forgot about the cliff and fell had been as much accident as anything else and his tricks and traps were clever but detached. Killing the two teenage boys that captured him had surprised her. Even if she saw the fire to live suddenly rise in him, he had been lucky to escape. He reacted badly when he saw tributes doing double team attacks.

But, she had to concede, he was much better. Clenched fists, and a quiet walk to the elevator was much better than the hours of pounding his fists or head against a wall, or worse against poor Dickie and Hodges who could barely defend themselves. And of course, that had died down before Matthew had gotten his full growth. Mary was right, she thought suddenly, we don’t give him any credit for being better, for not being a brutalized little boy who learned all the wrong lessons from the game. He went to the roof garden to cool off, to be private with his emotions, because he didn’t want to slam anyone into a wall. She knew he had broken his own rule, he had gotten attached to David, just like he had gotten attached to William. It was never wise to get attached. He was trying to not fall apart, she realized.So how best to ward Sybil off from following him?

Some honesty will help, Violet decided. “He got attached, Sybil. He usually does. He started to think David had a chance… and now David is dead and he died in a way that reminds Matthew of a terrible memory. It’s probably best if we leave him alone.”

Sybil was silent only for a moment. Then her eyes blazed, and for a moment it was like looking at Mary. “Has that ever made it better? Ever?” Then she turned on her heels and stomped out.

“She might have a point,” Dickie slurred after a long moment. He hesitated. “Do you want me to go fetch her back?”

Violet considered it and then shook her head. “No. Lady Sybil is old enough to make her own decisions, and she grew up knowing that Matthew has difficulty. She’s either right to go check on him, or she will learn a lesson.” 

~*~

The sun was setting in a spectacular fashion when she stepped out onto the roof. Sybil wondered suddenly why there was a rooftop garden on top of the Training Center at all. She had been in enough Capitol buildings and homes to know that the people of the Capitol liked gaudy clothes and makeup but in their homes preferred a sleek, modern aesthetic. The garden on the roof didn’t fit in. Then it struck her. It’s meant for us, she realized, for the tributes and mentors. Because we all live in the backwoods, in squalid little hovels in natural settings. It added to her anger, but she forced that away as she spotted Matthew sitting on one of the benches carefully placed amid the flowers. 

Matthew saw her, and looked down at his hands. “Please leave me alone, Sybil.”

“If that’s what you really want, I’ll leave,” Sybil kept her voice firm. “But not until I’ve said what I came up here to say.”She took a deep and then let it out. “I’m sorry that I haven’t been listening to your advice. You’ve been trying to help me, to stop me from getting hurt, and from repeating the same mistakes that you made, and I have been acting like a… like a petulant child.” She took a seat on the bench opposite him. She wasn’t a fool. It had been Mary who had given her the advice she was taking, to never sit within hitting range when Matthew was in a foul mood.

He glared at her. “I’m also not in the mood for your attempts to cheer me.”

“Does it happen like an overwhelming flash?” She asked it in a pleasant tone, helped that she was genuinely curious. “At the stupid party, Gloss tried to upset me by bringing up Sapphire and how he thought I got lucky and for a moment, I was back there, standing in mud up to my knees holding that stupid girl’s head under the water.” She shuddered, and didn’t try to suppress it. “I think he wanted me to…. I don’t know, have some sort of breakdown.”

That seemed to energize Matthew. “Gloss is an ass,” he muttered. “He wanted you to flip out so he could call you another crazy Crawley. They call us that, you know. Crazy Crawleys.” He sighed. “I certain added to that particular myth. And you added to the creepy Crawley nonsense by winning the game. They stopped letting me pick after I went three in a row.”

“Do you think it’s true?” she asked suddenly. Her intent wasn’t to jolly Matthew out of his mood by distracting him, but she was curious. “That we Crawleys have the sight?”

For a wonder, he chuckled at that. “Oh Sybil… No. And I can prove it. We’re both Crawleys and you think the girl from Twelve will win.” He crossed his arms. “I would have chosen the boy from Twelve. We both can’t be right.”

“Didn’t he die already?” He certainly hadn’t been visible in the Arena. “After the tracker jacker attack?”

“No, not unless he died while I was out entertaining.” Matthew rolled his eyes. “My point, Sybil, is that one of us will be wrong, which means we don’t have some supernatural power to predict death.” His expression crumpled slightly. “I’ve had flashes like that. Not so much with people saying names but touching me. Especially from behind.” He looked down at his feet. “It will ease off in time. And you’ll figure out what triggers it, and how to avoid that. And yes, that’s why I spent close to two years almost entirely shut off from everyone… I just couldn’t function. Someone would touch me, and everything would disappear and I’d be there. In the Arena. And then I’d react, and then I’d be back, and someone would be on the ground or bleeding… Mother would put on a brave face when the Peace Keepers called her or dropped me off, and then I’d hear her crying in her room. Over me, of course.” He took a deep breath. “I told you before I never seriously considered taking my own life, and that wasn’t a lie, but I was… in a nightmare I couldn’t escape. I know what was said, that I went mad, but when you’re mad, you don’t remember every terrible thing you’ve done.”

She understood immediately. “It hasn’t been that bad for me,” and it dawned on her how frustrating that must be for him, that he was still the victor who had the worst problems and behaviors. And that there was no one but a drunk and two elderly people who had their reasons to hold themselves aloof to talk to. She understood it because she had the same problem. Mary had reached out and offered, even sharing the horrible thing that had happened to her, but it wasn’t the same. “So you came up here to… be alone and regain your calm. Am I ruining it? Should I leave?”

He shook his head. “I left because I didn’t feel like having Dickie and your grandmother tell me how I should feel. It’s actually been some time since I was easily startled into a rage. I just… They were both children, and now they’re dead and sometimes I have difficulty with that being my life.” He looked at her, his icy blue eyes strangely dark. “Mary is pregnant, you know. Well, maybe you don’t know.”

“I… didn’t know,” Sybil struggled to not show her surprise. In any other married couple, that would be joyful news, a new baby on the way so soon after the wedding.

“She hasn’t told me yet.” Matthew sighed. “She’s worried that I will react badly. I overheard her telling my mother that.” A smile crossed his face. “She doesn’t realize that I know all the places to overhear Mother in that house. She didn’t want to tell me before the games because I was so adamant about not wanting children.” He looked down at his hands. “I saw David dying, dying in a way that I almost died, and all I could think is that my child will be facing that same fate. That’s why I left and that’s why Violet and Dickie don’t know why I was upset.” He brushed himself off and stood up. “And now I am calm again. Or calm enough. Thank you, Sybil, for listening to my pathetic and sad emotional outburst.”

“You know, you aren’t alone in this.” She ached to tell him what she knew, that his children would fall under the protection that President Snow was granting her. She knew better, she was well aware that the entire training center was monitored. “I plan to have children despite this. I worry. And I worry that my every moment that isn’t me smiling pleasantly is the moment where everyone decides I’ve lost my mind. And we have to do this next year, and the year after and I don’t know how Granny has done this for so many years. Especially considering how little she drinks. Why don’t we have a drink?”

He held out his arm to her. “You could come to the party with me and we could make a scene. Tonight’s party is at Seneca Crane’s palatial estate and he has a billiards room almost as nice as the Abbey’s. And I seem to recall someone being something of a prodigy with a pool cue…”

“You’re thinking of Edith, actually,” she said with a chuckle. “And I think she and Anthony are incredibly well suited since he loves fast cars and pool almost as much as she does. In fact I think he taught her to play.”

Matthew chuckled as well but then his expression took on a more serious caste. “Sybil, I do need to ask you a favor. I haven’t told Mary about… the children here. I do plan to, after she officially tells me about the baby. I don’t want her to think I didn’t want a child with her because I already had children. Which I don’t in any real sense. I get pictures and stories and assurances that I will never be troubled by them as they will never know their real father is. I didn’t tell Mary because it’s embarrassing and because I know she wants children, not because… she doesn’t know what is asked of me here. She’s well aware of that, just not how far it went. She will be told, I promise you that, I just want her to know that I am genuinely happy that we’re to have a child.”

“What happens in the Capitol stays in the Capitol,” she reminded him, “but I am glad you’re planning to tell her about it. Are you genuinely happy?” She wondered.

“Absolutely. That’s not a lie.” He smiled, more genuinely than she expected. “As frightened as I am by what I know that child will face, I can’t deny that I want that child. I want as many children as Mary is willing to have. In for a penny, in for a pound, that’s what my father always said. Besides, if I have say, eight children, and if you and Tom have what, isn’t ten a common number in the stock worker families? The Capitol will get bored of Crawleys in the games eventually, especially since we always win.”


	24. Chapter 24 - Another Family Dinner

It was a new tradition, Matthew realized as he led Mary into the Abbey’s elaborate dining room, to have a family dinner upon the victors returning from the Games. Granted, he thought suddenly as they took their seats, I probably wasn’t invited in prior years for obvious reasons. His first three Games, he’d either been too upset, or genuinely ill, and his mother had her own share of anger towards Robert’s family, which meant she rarely forced him to dance attendance on Robert’s whims. And he supposed he wasn’t truly being fair. Robert had never stopped inviting him to family gatherings, and Cora had always been dropping by to see his mother, even during his worst times. Perhaps, he mused, the family is finally healing.

With that pleasant thought in his head, he still wished they could have skipped the whole business. Mary looked positively radiant and he wanted nothing more than to curl up with her and pretend he wasn’t going back to the Capitol in eleven months. They hadn’t begged it off because Robert had corralled them as soon as they’d gotten off the train with how he wanted to welcome them all back. Even Dickie had been invited but Dickie had wisely lied about not knowing all the manners needed for a formal dinner. Cora had ordered a giant dinner basket prepared for him just the same.

Matthew couldn’t skip because Edith’s wedding was two weeks away and the games had ended just in time for him to be put back in the wedding party as Mary’s escort and one of the groomsmen. He could even admit, to himself and possibly to Mary, that he was well pleased to have been invited by Sir Anthony to be a groomsman. It wasn’t obligatory, Mary being a matron of honor for Edith meant he had a seat at the wedding, and Anthony wasn’t a whipped dog to Robert. As much as he was certain Robert asked that he be included, Anthony wouldn’t have asked him unless he meant it, and it felt good. He would never shake off all of the stories, he wasn’t a fool, but he was beginning to accept that he could have a genuine place in their world, and not just the role of the crazy bitter victor.

And there was the baby to consider. Mary had already told him that she had a surprise for him, and he suspected, based on the worried glances and the offer by Robert and Cora for them to spend the night at the Abbey ‘to better enjoy the party’, that he was the last to know. That’s what happens, he reminded himself as he smiled at Mary, when you tell everyone you hate the idea of having children. He didn’t, which made it worse. The idea of having children, raising little sons and daughters, it pleased him. It was the risk of the Games that put him off but now it was happening, and he had no intention of frightening Mary with his worries. Things could be different in twelve years, he agreed with Robert and the rebellion council as he called it in his mind, on that point. The Capitol was feeling the stress of oppression. District Ten was calm, in part because people like Robert were letting enough wealth trickle down to keep people reasonably fed. Seeing the other districts, it seemed like it was just a matter of time before everything exploded. The strange end to the 74th Games added to his unease. Two winners, which had never happened before, the boy and girl from Twelve. He had a feeling there would be consequences for that. The love story had been cute, a ratings win, and the average citizen of the Capitol adored how the lovebirds of District Twelve weren’t torn apart, but Matthew suspected there was trouble coming for the winners and for the game designer. He was just glad it wasn’t his district that had the attention of the Capitol.

“What is taking Sybil so long?” Mary asked him quietly. “It’s not like she has to hunt down a dress. I had Anna position a few of her frocks here, just like I did with your clothes.” She leaned to him. “You look quite delicious, you know. More healthy looking than how you usually return.”

“I didn’t think my lovely wife would appreciate my returning in a terrible state,” he said easily. The truth was that it hadn’t been as difficult. No one had been terribly interested in sponsoring the tributes, Judy had died so quickly and David only garnered attention because he lasted longer than expected. Whatever President Snow had done to put Sybil off limits, it had led to his own party invites being a bit more staid as well. And it had been in the back of his mind that Mary had been terribly worried about him the year before. “You look quite delicious as well. You’re almost glowing.”

That made her blush, which amused him. There was some fun to be had in teasing her, he realized.

That thought left him as Sybil entered, wearing a lovely dress, with Tom Branson on her arm. Tom was in white tie, one of Matthew’s old outfits that he’d outgrown before it had gotten any wear at all. Good, Matthew thought as he took in the surprised and yet also relieved faces around the table. He suspected the only one genuinely surprised was Carson. Even Robert seemed more resigned than shocked.

“Sybil, what is this?” Robert asked as he rose to his feet. “Why are you holding hands with the chauffeur?”

Sybil stared her father down. “Because the chauffeur is my fiancé, Papa. Tom Branson has asked to marry me, and I have said yes.” Sybil looked at Edith, her firm expression softening. “I don’t mean to steal your thunder, Edith. It’s just that there’s never a good time when we’re all here and Tom has been adamant that we not sneak about.”

“Oh really?” Robert muttered. Edith nodded her acceptance, and Matthew suspected Edith had already known about Sybil’s announcement. She certainly knew about Tom and Sybil being a couple, and Sybil wouldn’t have chosen the moment without Edith’s permission.

Tom stepped forward. “Yes, really. I am not a sneak, and had it been my decision, you would have been told sooner. I love your daughter, and I want to marry her… and I wanted to make sure you knew that before she turned eighteen and doesn’t have to have your permission, because I respect you. I don’t want Sybil to be estranged from her family or feel she’s done something wrong. We intend to wait until she is eighteen, which is in March and we would like marry in May.”

Mary made a face at that, and Matthew had to pinch his hand to stop himself from laughing. A wedding in May meant that Mary would be hugely pregnant. He had no doubt that Sybil would be none too gently argued with to change that aspect of the plan.

Robert took it all in. “Well,” he said, with a nod to Carson, “then we’ll need an extra place setting. At least there’s something to discuss other than the games and the crops.”

~*~

“Poor Tom,” Mary said she helped Matthew slip off his dress clothes. In theory, Moseley functioned as Matthew’s valet along with being their butler and all around handyman. In practice, it hadn’t been until recently that Matthew attended more than a rare function and had never tolerated being dressed by someone else well. She had no doubt Moseley had gotten a punch and more for his troubles, and she considered it a sign of Matthew’s love for her that she could help him undress without triggering his fear.

“Lucky Tom,” Matthew murmured softly. He shrugged off his shirt and then stepped around her, undoing the buttons of her dress. “Your father doesn’t have to accept him and none of his peers would judge him harshly for not accepting it. I don’t think Robert was entirely surprised by it either.”

“He wasn’t,” Mary quipped as Matthew slipped off her dress. She struggled to not simply writhe from enjoyment and throw him onto the bed. She had missed him, missed having him next to her in bed for the first time since their wedding, but it was his first night back from the Capitol and she wanted him to take the lead, and not feel forced or obligated. If he didn’t look as tired and ill as he had in years past, he did still look tired and she could see that he had lost weight the way he always did. Plus, they were spending the night in the Abbey, in her old childhood bedroom, and she felt just the slightest bit inhibited by that. Instead she took a seat on the edge of the bed. “Mama has been planting the idea in his head for the last few months that Sybil must really like the chauffeur if she’s willing to lie about wanting to learn how to fix cars to spend time with him.”

“All the more amusing that she likes fixing cars,” Matthew said with a laugh.

“He just can’t be a chauffeur,” Mary said, as she watched Matthew finish undressing. “You do understand that, don’t you?”

“I do,” Matthew replied as he got into the bed with him, “and I have a good thought on how to solve that problem, but I remind you that if Patrick had lived, the man you married would have been nothing but a common man, lucky to gain a tenancy from his ennobled cousins.”

“You were smashingly clever in school and would have gotten the scholarship to the Capitol schools, just like your parents did,” she reminded him as she curled up next to him. “And if for some reason that didn’t happen, then Patrick would have made you the estate manager. I know we don’t talk of it often, but he did like you.” It was likely why Patrick had killed himself. For all that Cousin James had disliked Matthew, his son had treated Matthew like a little brother. Matthew _had_ forgiven him. It had taken time but she knew he had said the words to Patrick, and meant them. By then though, James had died and Mary was fairly certain the older man had taken his own life as well, and Patrick was left as the district laughingstock, as isolated as Matthew, if not worse because he wasn’t given any sympathy by anyone.

Matthew sighed as he pulled her close. “I know and with an older and wiser perspective, I think Patrick was as much of a victim of his father’s scheme as I was. And you’re leading to my idea. Jenkins is getting on, and he’s not married and doesn’t even have any distant relations to train as his replacement as estate manager. The same excuse that would have gotten me the job will serve Tom equally well.”

“Tom as the estate manager?” It surprised in that once she ignored the fact that Tom wasn’t good enough for Sybil, it was as clever of an idea as she could expect from Matthew. “I do see what you mean. It’s a job that satisfies the social niceties. We don’t invite Jenkins to family occasions but he is highly ranked. If Tom was the estate manager, or learning to be the estate manager, then he and Sybil marrying isn’t Sybil marrying common trash because she can’t do any better.”

“Tom isn’t common trash,” Matthew said quietly, his voice taking that firm tone that indicated he was getting annoyed.

“I agree,” she said after a moment. “It’s Sybil who has been sneaky in this, not Tom, and I will be making that point to my father, in case you were wondering. And Tom has been a rock of support for Sybil, all while insisting on her honor and in respecting Papa. But can he manage the estate?”

Matthew chuckled and she reveled in how he felt next to her. “Tom,” he said very carefully, “is probably as clever as I. He’s certainly more stable than I. Someone will have to do it because even if I devote myself to the estate I will still have these lengthy trips away, so I will need someone I can trust and depend on. And I think I can find that in Tom. He’s clever and willing to learn and Jenkins taking him on as an assistant and as the next in line to the estate manager job both Tom and your father to maintain their pride. Your father is the more prickly one on the matter of pride and Tom was wise to make the point, that he was giving Robert the opportunity to object by not keeping the relationship hidden until Sybil turned eighteen. Now the problem is that Robert has to save face by accepting Tom but not making it look as though he’s bending. Allowing the marriage as long as it’s perceived that Tom is ‘stepping up’. And Tom, frankly, gets a job that’s better suited to his skills and talents, and I get an estate manager who will be loyal to me and not to what they think your father would want.”

She considered that for a long moment. “I knew you were better with people than you like to think, but I had no idea you were such a manipulative mastermind. You’ve got this all planned out, and designed to suit your needs completely.” It was startling, if only because it reminded her that he was far more observant than people knew. All the time alone with his thoughts had turned him into a keen observer.

Which meant she needed to tell him before he figured it out himself and he certainly would figure it out soon enough. She curled closer to him. “I know it’s your first night back but… I have to tell you something.”

“Is it about my surprise?” Matthew asked, good naturedly teasing her.

“It is… but I do worry that it might… upset you.” She leaned up on her arms to look into his eyes. “I’m with child, Matthew.” She held her breath.

He blinked and then smiled. Then he pulled her close. “Good. I’m glad. That makes me happy, Mary.” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I mean it. I’ve done… a lot of thinking about children while on this trip. I’m tired of being afraid, and of missing out on life because of my fears. We both deserve children. We would be good parents. And as much as I will never stop worrying about the Reaping, I can’t let that fear control me. And…” and then he chuckled, “it also has occurred that they might not want the predictability of a Crawley in the Games. I don’t know if it’s occurred to you, but Crawleys always win. Seems like that would make the Games a little less interesting. Especially since our children, and Edith’s, and Sybil’s, will all be raised to know what will happen.”

“What do you mean?” Mary asked, although she had an idea of what he meant.

“No child of ours, or of your sisters, goes into that arena without knowing how to fend for themselves. Between Sybil and I, and you, since you really are wicked with quarterstaff, we should be able to produce some real fighters.” He let his hand rest on her not yet curving stomach, and she covered it with hers.

“If they’re determined to have Crawleys as tributes,” she agreed, “then you’re right. We can have our own little career school.” It was a thought that chilled her, truth be told, but she understood his point and agreed, even though it hurt. If he wanted their children to be prepared and trained for the Games, that was a price she was willing to pay. Because there would be children, not just a child, and a future she never really considered suddenly rose up in her mind, with all of its wonderful possibilities. There will be children, she thought dreamily as she let her head rest on his chest.

*Author’s note – if this seems all so nice and pleasant well, those of you who have read the Hunger Games know that the events of Catching Fire are just around the corner….

 

 

 

 

 


	25. Chapter 25 - A Victory Storm

Matthew didn’t make weather wise pronouncements often but when he did, it paid to listen. Mary’s ears pricked up immediately when he handed her a heavy jacket. “It’s going to storm this afternoon.”

Then he winced and rubbed his head. “Are you all right?” Mary asked as she took the jacket. It was too heavy for the day’s speech in the town square, but she didn’t argue the point. “If your head is bothering, you can beg off the speeches you know.” The head cracking he’d taken in his final fight in the Arena no longer constantly troubled him, but he did still occasionally suffer blinding, painful headaches. And it most commonly happened right before the weather dramatically changed. Isobel thought it was a sensitivity to the barometric pressure in the air. All Mary knew was that it meant the sunny, not terribly cold winter morning was going to leave the District all too soon.

“I’d like nothing better but it’s better to put in an appearance,” Matthew said easily. He smiled at her. “We just have to sit there and listen. You get to sit beside me for this as my wife so we can make jokes about the speeches and then we have a fancy lunch. The headache isn’t bad, not yet. I’d rather tough it out and save being absent for something a little more serious.” He shrugged. “I doubt it would be an issue but… 

“Best to be careful then,” Mary agreed. “At least put on the sunglasses your doctor told you to wear. You know they help.” She gave him a firm look as he made a face. “Yes, there will probably be a massive blizzard this afternoon, but we’re going to the town square and the roofs are covered in snow and the sun is quite bright, and bright flashes of light make it worse.”

He frowned more as he took the dark glasses out of his jacket pocket and put them on. “I look like a Capitol fop.”

“No, you look quite dashing, like my handsome husband, and my father’s heir, showing the good sense to protect his light sensitive eyes from the damaging sun and not make his nasty headache worse,” Mary shot back, letting her voice take on a lighter, teasing note. “Don’t make me chide you like a child, Matthew. I am slowly coming to understand just how long suffering your mother is.”

“Finally, someone who realizes how difficult he is,” Isobel said as she joined them in the foyer. “Let me guess, the weather is soon to change, it’s triggering a headache and he won’t wear the sunglasses that help because he’s too worried about what people will think.” She gave Mary a friendly look. “I quite enjoy having an official ally against Matthew’s stubbornness.”

“I’m not stubborn,” Matthew protested as he held open the door for them. “I have something called post-traumatic stress disorder according to that expensive Capitol psychology class I took.”

“You can keep saying that,” Mary said cheerfully, “but remember we both knew you before your trauma. You used to argue yourself blue over the rules about how many library books you could have in second grade.”

“I’m still right about,” Matthew insisted with a laugh. “It’s a silly, arbitrary rule made without thought that deserves to be protested.” That made Mary laugh, but as they walked to the square, she reminded herself to see to it that she kept an eye on him.

It was nice to be able to sit next to him at a Capitol event. With the Reaping, the victors sat alone, but with the Victory tour speeches they could sit with their families. She hoped the speeches didn’t run long. It was a nice winter day, in the mid-thirties, not biting cold, but still not fun to sit in for hours. And Matthew wasn’t delicate but the fact that he admitted even considering not attending meant he wasn’t feeling well. The speeches would be followed with a late formal luncheon at the Abbey. The lords took turn hosting it and it happened to fall on her father’s shoulders for the current tour. Then the District Twelve victors would be trotted back to their train and they could put the Games out of their minds until the next Reaping.

As the two District Twelve victors were led to the stage, Matthew crossed his arms and leaned into her. “Something is wrong,” he whispered to her. “The boy and girl look completely terrified. Haymitch and the Capitol envoy are watching them like hawks.”

“Maybe they have stage fright,” she whispered back. It did seem odd though. The Victory tour was hardly a horror show compared to the Arena. Both Matthew and Sybil had described it as more dull than painful. The District Twelve victors looked unnaturally nervous. 

Matthew nodded pensively. “Or maybe they’re beginning to realize that their winning has a cost. There’s been rumors going around that the higher ups are none too pleased with Game Designer Crane for altering the rules so capriciously.”

The wind picked up and it started to snow as the male victor, with the ridiculous name of Peeta began to speak. He seemed nice enough, funny like in his interviews and made a point of complimenting the district. It was otherwise a careful, nondescript sort of speech. Not exactly odd, victors weren’t known for their words, but he had been well spoken in his Capitol interviews. Then the girl, Katniss, came to the podium, and Mary wondered more. The poor girl was trembling as she stuttered out what was obviously a memorized speech. She looked painfully nervous, any move from the assembled people made her jump. The envoy then made a show of having the two lovebird victors hug and kiss and hold hands as they left the raised dais. It was awkward, despite the crowd applauding appreciatively, the love story had been popular. As the girl pulled away from the boy, Mary realized what some of the problem was.

“They’re not in love, you know,” she said quietly to Matthew as the crowd started to get up and disburse.

“Are you sure?” Matthew asked, amusement filling his voice. “I admit, these sunglasses make my view suspect but he seemed to be taken with his rumored bride to be. The gossip is that they’ll be announcing their wedding plans soon.”

“He might be in love,” Mary countered, “but she looks like an animal caught in a trap.”

“As if every girl in District Ten marries entirely for love,” Matthew countered as he took her arm and led her along the path the dignitaries were taking to Downton for the luncheon. “You and I are quite lucky that no one objected to our choice to marry. And you were always intended for Patrick. Those two,” he nodded towards the District Twelve victors who were corralled by the District mayor and several high ranking lords, “put on a show of being young lovers torn apart by the Games. The public lapped it up. The rules of the Games were actually changed to spare them.” He kept his voice very low. “They can hardly not get married now, can they? They’re trapped, and if they weren’t in love, it must look like a prison sentence. Believe me when I say it’s hardly a delight to be forced to spend time with people you don’t like. I’ve grown to enjoy your grandmother and Dickie in their way, but spending weeks with Edward Hodges was not a treat. Worse for them, they have to pretend to be in love. Or else.”

“You don’t mean?” Mary didn’t know if she really wanted the answer. 

Matthew shrugged. “They forced the Capitol to let both of them win. Even if that was good for ratings, it is still people from an outlying district making the Capitol look weak. I wouldn’t want to be them, Mary. Attention from the Capitol hurts. Believe me when I say it frightens me that President Snow has an interest in Sybil.”

“Yet she’s been oddly more cheerful these last two months.” She had her suspicions on that. Her parents had agreed to the wedding plans, and Tom’s parents had gently requested that the wedding be in late June, for better weather, and so that it would be easier for Tom’s extended family to get time away from their jobs. She suspected her father and mother would need to twist a few arms since Tom’s parents were apparently related by increasingly fanciful connection to almost everyone in the district and were pleased as punch at the idea of their son marrying into the nobility. They had, when invited to a dinner ostensibly to discuss the marriage, been almost overawed at the notion that Tom was being promoted to assistant estate manager. Mary supposed they were right to be impressed. It wasn’t a job that went to stockworker sons, it went to the younger sons of landholders. Jenkins, the current manager was a distant cousin of her grandfather who had gotten the job because Robert had no brothers. Cousin James would have taken the role if her father had a son, but since Patrick had been the next in line, there was no point in taking the role away. If Patrick had lived, if their lives hadn’t been altered by the Games, Matthew would have been offered the role. If for some reason Matthew had turned it down, a younger son of a different peer family with no chance of inheriting would have gotten it.

“I think Sybil is just pleased that your family is accepting him.” The falling snow started to swirl around them as they walked. Matthew took off the dark glasses, put them in his jacket pocket and then took her arm firmly. “There’s definitely a storm blowing in, the walkway is already slick.”

“Lucky for us we have a three hour luncheon in the Abbey.” Mary chimed as she leaned into him. “I just hope the District Twelve victors have some manners.”

“Probably not,” Matthew said, chuckling. “But I am curious to see how your father reacts to Haymitch and Dickie attempting to outdrink each other.”

~*~

Tom awkwardly took a glass of champagne from Carson. The older man wasn’t quite glaring daggers at him, but Tom knew the man thought he was overstepping his place. Get used to it, he thought as he sipped the drink, the times are changing. He had no intention of being disrespectful, Carson was a fusspot of the highest order but he was also a good man and it would anger his soon to be father in law if he picked a fight with the beloved butler, but at some point Carson would need to get used to the idea. While Tom rather loathed the idea of having servants, he accepted that Sybil wasn’t ready to fight her parents on the point, and her home was hardly stuffed with servants. With Mary moved over to Matthew’s home, Anna tended her there, and Sybil rarely needed a lady’s maid. Young Daisy was the cook, and Thomas was the butler. Tom didn’t see the need for a valet, and while he doubted Thomas found him any more acceptable for Sybil than Carson, the man did dote on Sybil, and Tom was already beginning to see how being the estate manager was a full time job. It wasn’t so terrible, he had decided, to have someone in the house available for Sybil while he was working. He could admit that he worried, and that he appreciated why Mary had moved in after the Games.

The Victory luncheon was slow in appearing, some sort of delay because of the snow that was coming down almost like a blanket. Mary, Sybil, Cora and Violet were all circled around the Capitol escort, one Effie Trinket, who was garishly dressed in Capitol fashion. From the sounds of it, Ms. Trinket was amazed to see a district that had some semblance of civilization, as she called it. The woman was loudly praising the Abbey as almost as nice as a home in the Capitol, something Tom suspected was, in the woman’s mind, a form of high praise, even if it came out insulting and condescending. Dickie McKendrick had figured out which footmen would keep bringing him drinks and was sitting with the nearly silent Edward Hodges. Tom wondered how long it would be before Hodges simply died in his sleep. The poor fellow was barely aware of where he was, a sad contrast to the man Tom remembered as a child. Even Matthew, who made no secret that he didn’t like Hodges and that until the man’s mind had slipped, the feeling had been mutual, felt sorry for the man, and was bringing the two older men large drinks. 

The two new victors kept right next to each other, the boy awkwardly holding the girl’s hand. Tom had already heard Mary’s theory about the two, and he agreed. The two newest victors weren’t as in love as the Games made them out to be. They also looked painfully off put and awkward. Of course, Tom realized, Sybil made District Twelve sound like a horror show of poverty. They probably have no idea how to act. Haymitch, the older victor who should have been helping them, was actively harassing Mosely, who was making drinks at the bar, for more alcohol. He made a point of walking up to them. “Don’t worry,” he said easily, “I know everything looks breakable but trust me, none of the furniture breaks if you sit on it.” He gestured for both of them to sit down. “I’m Tom Branson, I’m… Lady Sybil’s fiancé and the assistant estate manager.” He grinned at them both. “And those are both very new titles. It’s the first time I’ve had the chance to introduce myself to guests. I used to be the chauffeur.”

They both looked blankly at him. Finally, the girl said quietly, “I don’t know what that is.”

Which went along with Sybil’s description of how the only cars she had seen in District Twelve had been official vehicles. “I used to be Lord Grantham’s driver, so I would drive him where he needed to go here in the District and I also kept his cars in good repair. Then Lady Sybil, his daughter, and I, fell in love.”

The boy’s eyes lit up. “That’s like Katniss and I, only opposite. Because I live in town and my parents have a business, and Katniss’s family worked in the mines…”

The girl, Katniss, gave the boy a look that rivalled Lady Mary’s irritated expression. “It’s not the same at all, Peeta.” She stood up. “Does this… giant house have a bathroom?”

“More than one,” Tom said easily, “The closest for ladies is right down the grand hallway to the right.” The girl nodded and strode off. Tom was amused to see Peeta watch her walk away with sheer longing in his eyes. Someone was in love, Tom thought with amusement. A pity it didn’t seem to be mutual, although he could admit, he’d thought it was real during the Games. “She’s a very nice girl, your Katniss. And you two are planning to marry?”

The boy nodded, looking suddenly and oddly panicked. “We were going to wait until she turned eighteen but… Apparently, our wedding will be a Capitol crowd pleaser so it will need to done on their schedule.” Peeta looked at him imploringly. “We are in love, that’s absolutely the truth, but I think that… because she’s being pushed to do it quickly… that it makes her stubborn about it.”

Tom smiled in commiseration. “That’s how women are, Peeta. They never liked being told to do something.” He considered what the Games had shown him about the young lovers of District Twelve. He knew from both Sybil and Matthew that a lot of the storylines were exaggerated. Matthew had supposedly had a rivalry with one of the boys he’d killed and the Games had played Sybil and William as more than friends. He could see that the boy was genuine, the girl had probably gone along with it because there could only be one winner so promises made and stories told would hardly matter in the end. And then they both won the Games and she was stuck with the decision. “I don’t pretend to be an expert, especially I am not a victor but… you both might find that that things get easier once you’re no longer the newest victors.” Things had definitely gotten easier for Sybil. She had been sad upon returning from her first games as a mentor but also relaxed, as if she’d seen the worst it would throw at her and found the burden could be borne. He also wondered if Peeta Mellark considered how he might be happier if he allowed the Capitol to have what it wanted but otherwise took things slower. “If she doesn’t really want to get married right away… let the Capitol have its spectacle wedding but otherwise back off and let her come to you. Once the next Game happens, this year it’s the Quarter Quell and there will be new tributes and victors to gain attention.” And perhaps being married to the girl will protect you both from what Matthew was forced to do, Tom mentally added. He hoped, for the girl’s sake, that Peeta took his advice and allowed her the time to work out that if she didn’t love Peeta, she could still be married to the lad and have whoever she wanted in the meantime. It wasn’t how Tom wanted to live as a married man, but such things happened in the district, men and women forced to marry to preserve estate holdings. Arrangements were made, things were worked out. As he spotted the girl walking back to them, he wished suddenly that she had been there to hear the advice. Katniss Everdeen was probably the one who needed to hear it the most.

She didn’t quite glare at him when she resumed her seat next to Peeta but she did seem to dismiss his presence, in a way that eerily resembled Lady Mary. Tom almost smiled at the thought. It just shows, he thought with amusement, it’s not wealth that makes a person. Katniss had the same cool confidence and unspoken arrogance that Mary had. He gave Peeta a look and wondered. You’re going to need more than a nice smile to keep her, he thought suddenly, but then she gave Peeta a concerned look that was more affectionate than any he’s seen previously.

“Have you been watching the snow?” she asked, her grey eyes flashing. “The way it’s coming down, by the time this luncheon is done, there will be a foot of snow on the ground.

Tom followed her pointing finger to the windows. She had a point, he realized, although he didn’t understand her fear. The snow was indeed coming down hard, a blizzard really. A bother for the stockworkers, especially with it being a rare holiday, but no real fuss otherwise. Unless, he realized, you were expecting to leave on the Capitol train. The tracks were kept clear, because District Ten supplied milk and cheese but a bad storm could halt shipping for a day, and the Victor train wasn’t the first priority. He wasn’t sure why the two of them looked so worried. He was certain that the planners at the Capitol had contingency plans for snowstorms. “Don’t worry,” he said easily. “It looks bad but we’re used to it here. Worst case scenario is that we’re snowed in for the day and trust me there’s enough beds for everyone, and the larder is full.”

“You don’t understand,” Katniss said darkly. 

“There was trouble.” Peeta added. “In District Eleven. This might reflect… badly. On your district.”

Tom nodded, but wondered if they were being overly paranoid. Still, he would need to take Robert aside. Something wasn’t right.


	26. Chapter 26 - Sleepover Revelations

It was odd, Mary realized, for Head Peacekeeper Flavio to look so off put by news that was more inconvenient than frightening. Even her father seemed surprised that Flavio was so worried.

“It’s not that unusual, Marcus,” Robert soothed. “It’s certainly cold enough that the shipments to the Capitol won’t spoil if they sit in the supply cars for an extra day.” He seemed to chance upon the problem in an instant as he looked at the milling group of guests. “If the storm makes it impossible for our visiting guests to stay in their train cars, then there’s plenty of room here at the Abbey for guests to spend the night.” He gestured to the huddled group of Capitol and District 12 guests. “I could put them all in the guest wing and still have room for everyone who came to the luncheon. And most of them are on their way to their own homes.”

Mary nodded at that. She and Matthew were planning to spend the evening, that had been the plan since the beginning, a fun return to her childhood home for the weekend. Even Matthew had been looking forward to it, a rarity since it disrupted his routine but she was starting to learn that if events were planned well ahead, he reacted much better to changes in routine. Sometimes she felt silly taking her husband, a well-known killer of men, on quiet tours of the Abbey where she explained in detail how easily he could get outside if he wished, and where all of the secret servant entries were. She didn’t think it was silly anymore. Isobel had discreetly suggested it when the Christmas holidays had led to invitations to the Abbey, that Matthew would agree to spend the night at her parents’ home, but would be unlikely to sleep a wink unless he knew where everything and everyone was supposed to be. Isobel was often an irritating busybody but when it came to Matthew, the older woman had a way of stepping in without really stepping in. Her only real concern with having guests what that they would remind Matthew of the games, and he’d already been troubled by a headache all day. Which meant things needed to start settling down so that Matthew’s nerves weren’t set afire. “Come now, Peacekeeper Flavio, do you really want to put guests from the Capitol in Baker’s inn? So they can spend a miserable night above the tavern crowd?”

Flavio eyed her for a long moment and then nodded. “I can’t have them stay in the train, they fuel the thing for each leg so if they run the heat all night, they won’t get to District 9.” He gave Robert a piercing look and nodded. “And you Crawleys have always been loyal. Like a good District Two family, volunteers and all. I’ll let them know the plan for the evening and I appreciate your generosity, Lord Grantham.”

A surprise, Mary thought. Her father was surprised as well but covered it as the man walked away. Flavio rarely used District 10 titles. He dislikes the airs of the lords and ladies of the District. “You’ve greatly pleased him for some reason, Papa.”

Her father shook his head. “Oh Mary…” He looked at her, his expression exasperated. Then he seemed to reconsider it. “You will be the Countess one day, perhaps it’s time you had a better understanding of the relationship we have with the Peacekeepers. Particularly since you just prodded Flavio into my debt.” He gestured to the Capitol guests and the victors from Twelve. “It’s not my responsibility at all to host these people, it’s Flavio’s problem. By rights, they should be foisted off into the empty houses in the Victors Village but Flavio doesn’t do more than minimally maintain those houses and pockets the extra money from the Capitol. He’s already worried that he’ll somehow be blamed for the delay, it’s ten times worse if the Capitol envoy complains that they were put up in anything less grand than a Capitol house.”

“You’re saving him a bad report, and maybe worse,” Mary said after a moment. It made sense. She knew the empty victor homes were supposed to be kept furnished and stocked but Flavio had, over the years, slowly emptied them of valuables. Since it was Flavio who would get into trouble, no one really cared. But with unexpected Capitol guests, it could go badly if Robert wasn’t being generous.

Robert nodded, pleased she had picked up on it, “I’m not just saving him some trouble. I’d hate to have to deal with a new Head Peacekeeper. Rumor has it District 12 already had a major shake up and there’s grumblings in 11, a whole class of new Peacekeepers is being sent to restore order. I don’t want a new Head Peacekeeper. So now Flavio owes me yet another favor and it’s hardly difficult to host a few guests. Are you and Matthew still spending the night?” Her father waved his hand. “I’d appreciate if he stayed but Isobel said he wasn’t feeling well…”

“It’s just a headache, and I sent him up to our room to rest before dinner.” That he hadn’t done more than mildly protest before he agreed to lie down told her that he wasn’t feeling well. “I should check on him. Please put the guests well away from the family quarters. I don’t… anticipate Matthew getting it into his head to wander the hallways tonight but he does sometimes have the need to know he can leave if he wishes. The victors from Twelve might have similar habits so it might be best to keep everyone separate.” And, she told herself, it might be best to sleep lightly if at all,

She left her father and Carson planning where to put the unexpected guests and went up the grand stairway to her bedroom. Matthew was much as she had left him, partially undressed, lying on top of the covers, with a wet washcloth over his eyes. He removed it as she entered the room and blinked at her.

“I hope I didn’t wake you,” she said as she took a seat near the bed. “Are you feeling better?”

He sat up and rubbed his head, his expression rueful. “I am much better, yes. I must admit, Mother is probably correct. As soon as this storm began in earnest, the headache lessoned.” He grinned at her. “You mustn’t let her know. You’re my ally, not hers, you know.”

“You just enjoy spiting us both too much to make me agree completely.” She took his hand and held it. “There will be times, especially with the baby coming, that I will ask you to be brave and to soldier on for me, but until then, if you don’t feel well, if your head is troubling, don’t torture yourself with the idea of pleasing me. Promise me that.”

“I promise,” he said easily, a smile coming to his face. “Has your father invited the Capitol folks to ride out the blizzard here?”

“He has, and I wanted to see if you preferred to stay here tonight like we planned or to go home.” Her father had hosted guests from the Capitol before, it mostly involved not rising to their insults and making sure there was plenty to eat and drink, and the District Twelve victors didn’t look like the sort of complain about anything. There were a few victors that Matthew was friendly with, and Haymitch Abernathy wasn’t one of them, so there was no need to have Matthew stay.

He shook his head. “We’ll stay here tonight. I know you were looking forward to it. Besides, Robert might appreciate some help. Your grandmother is a formidable woman but she’s not always at her best with fellow victors. And you and I both know there’s something off about this.”

She nodded agreement. “The news is already reporting the delay. It’s quite the story at the Capitol apparently. Also, there’s a graduating class of fresh new Peacekeepers being sent to District 11… and District 12’s Head Peacekeeper was just replaced.”

Matthew nodded at her unspoken warning. She didn’t think the Abbey was electronically bugged and monitored, if any house was monitored it was more likely Matthew’s Victor home, and she really doubted that there was any danger in discussing what was reported on the news, but he didn’t like political discussions inside and he didn’t need her to spell it out. When she added the reality that the new victors from Twelve seemed overly nervous and upset, it was clear something had happened during the visit to District Eleven. He stood up. “I suppose,” he said carefully, “that I should head downstairs and divert Haymitch from drinking himself blind.”

“He can’t be worse than Dickie McKendrick and Papa has held his own with him,” Mary said brightly.

“I forget, you don’t realize Dickie is on his best behavior on those rare occasions he’s invited to the Abbey.” Matthew grinned at her as he checked his tie in the mirror. “Trust me, that’s Dickie using his self control. Haymitch in contrast has no reason to not bedevil everyone here. I didn’t get the sense that the boy, Peeta, would be any trouble. The girl, Katniss…” Matthew chuckled. Mary gave him a look and he chuckled more. “Tom found her amusing.”

“Why?” Mary asked. He was setting her up to be teased, in that way he had. Just like she joked about his foibles, he sometimes poked fun at hers.

He smirked. “She reminds him of you. I have to agree. There’s a likeness.”

She made a show of being offended. “This is what I get for keeping his and Sybil’s secret so long, complete disrespect. But… she does have a certain regal nature, and we both have lovely hair and eyes. Do I need to worry about leaving the two of you alone? Or perhaps I should kill her tonight, and solve the problem of your wandering eye.” She batted him playfully.

“Never fear, my darling,” he said, his eyes suddenly intensely brilliant. He leaned in, touching her stomach, where the soon to be baby was just starting to show. “She’s a child, with her own potential mate in tow. Why should I chase after the green fruit when there’s a luscious, perfectly ripe pear before me?”

She kissed him. “Isn’t that a line from one of your trashy books?”

He kissed her. “It will be.”

~*~

Matthew gave in and gestured for the footman, Thomas from Sybil’s home pulling extra duty, to refill his wine glass. His mother gave him a dark look and he rolled his eyes at her. For a wonder, it wasn’t Haymitch being a drunk that was driving him to drink. Haymitch was drunk, of course, but in that disarming, steady way that Robert had. Haymitch was also intent on enjoying his meal. As were the two newest victors. Unlike Haymitch, they both were using silverware. They weren’t shy about asking for more of what they liked, but they were otherwise as quiet as mice. The boy and Tom chatted pleasantly, while Katniss seemed to find Sybil an annoying trial. Tom was right, he thought with more than a touch of amusement, Katniss Everdeen was poorer by birth in District 12 than even the lowest tenant farmers at Downton, but she carried herself with an almost imperious self confidence. Mary saw it as well, and he suspected it was a very good thing that the girl wasn’t staying longer than a night. My wife will want reassurances when the games come again, he thought as he watched her eye the younger woman, that this girl won’t receive any attention from me.

It was an easy promise to make although he suspected Mary would need more than a few promises on his behalf. For all that they had different backgrounds, he could see their similarities clearly. They were both clever and strong, they were both fearless when pressed, and there was even a similar look, long dark hair although the girl’s eyes were lighter than Mary’s. It was the similarities that had Mary eying Katniss like a worrisome interloper. It was silly on her part, but he didn’t plan on chiding her. It would just make it worse if he protested too much. There were so many reasons that the girl, Katniss, didn’t interest him in the slightest. Too young, too obviously angry, and too much of a victor. The truth was that part of why he loved Mary so dearly was that she was his rock, his walking stick he leaned on, and he’d never have that firmness of soul with a fellow victor. But it was nice to know Mary would bare her she-lion fangs at other lionesses. Katniss for her part seemed oblivious which made it all the more hilarious.

But that over the table silent interplay wasn’t why he was reaching for a drink. It was the Capitol envoy, and the chittering stylists who were driving him up a wall. Effie Trinket was nothing if not complimentary, but it was all so very loud and somewhat insulting, while the idiot stylists seemed utterly stunned by the notion that the home they were in wasn’t somehow about to collapse in the face of the blizzard. The District 12 victors had mastered rolling their eyes at almost every utterance of their Capitol servants, which did make it humorous, in a dull sort of way, but he was beginning to understand some of Haymitch’s drunkenness.

“I really had no idea that one of the outer districts could be so civilized,” Effie declared, for possibly the fifth time. “Why, this has been almost as nice as an evening in the Capitol! I know now why Clodia has been so insistent on staying with your district. She’s been offered District Two several times now, you know.”

Matthew dutifully nodded, as did Violet. Clodia had mentioned it in passing but had confessed that she simply didn’t like most of the District Two victors. It went unspoken that District Two typically didn’t keep their envoys for more than two or three years.

“She quite adores all of your quaint customs,” Effie chimed pleasantly, clearly thinking she was offering a compliment.

It was too much for Robert as well, Matthew realized. The older man stood and flourished his hand. "One of our quaint District Ten customs," Robert said easily, " is that the men and the ladies retire separately after dinner for drinks. Gentlemen, won't you join me in the library for drinks? "

Matthew struggled not to smile as he fairly lept to his feet. Robert was sometimes a trial, but he had a streak of sneakiness that was occasionally handy. "What a lovely idea, Robert. Mr. Abernathy, Mr. Mellark, let me show you the way."

 "I'll join you as well, " Tom said in a rush as he also jumped to his feet. To Sybil he said, "unless you need me at your side, my dearest?"

 

Sybil for her part was a good sport. "Don’t let me keep you from all the fun." She looked to Cora. "I’m sure you'd find the talk about the wedding dull."

 

Matthew waited until they were safely in the library to clap Tom on the back. "You know you walked into a trap, don’t you? She and her mother are going to decide on all sorts of terrible things. I bet you end up wearing a lace frock coat for your wedding."

 

Tom shook his head. "It was worth it." He turned to Haymitch and Peeta. " How do you deal with that woman twenty-four hours a day?"

 

"She does go to sleep," Peeta offered.

 

"I assume this is a bar," Haymitch said by way of answer. He walked over to the bar and was pouring himself a glass of Scotch when Carson stepped into the room. Haymitch smirked at him. "You're late, Jeeves. I had to pour my own drink. Will the eye gouger whip you later for your failure?"

 

Carson's expression didn’t change in the slightest. It was a masterful display. "Mr. Crawley isn’t my employer, Mr. Abernathy. And in this household such punishments are forbidden. I apologize for not being timely with refreshments. I see you've found the bar. Lord Grantham received a call from a tenant he needed to handle but will be here soon. Do you need anything? Perhaps if the imported whiskey isn’t to your taste, we do have a small selection of... I believe Mr. McKendrick calls it white lightning?"

 

Haymitch smirked, clearly appreciating Carson's subtle digs. "You're funny, Jeeves. I think though, that since we've started on the expensive stuff, we might as well continue with it. What do you think, Mr. Crawley?" Haymitch gestured with his glass around the ornate library. " As I understand the rules here, isn’t this your house? "

 

"No," Matthew said quickly, glad to dispel at least one piece of misinformation. "This is Lord Grantham's home. I'm his heir, the presumptive heir but he could still have a son of his own that would displace me. Although it’s unlikely at this point."

 

Haymitch waved away the explanation dismissively and began wandering around the library, occasionally stopping to peer at a book or a book. Peeta sipped his drink once and looked at Tom awkwardly. Tom, for his part, also looked awkward. Finally, as Haymitch scoffed at the furniture and deliberately made a mess of one of the book displays, Tom shot the man a dark look.

 

"Why are you being so rude?" Tom said to Haymitch, his temper up. Matthew sighed mentally, and he could see the boy Peeta cringe as well. Haymitch was drunk, and in a foul mood, that had been obvious. Something was wrong, something had happened in District 11, and Haymitch was

looking to pick a fight as a result. And Tom, a nice enough fellow, was rising to the bait.

 

"Because this entire set up is a crock," Haymitch hissed.  He gestured to one of the family portraits. "Come here, eye gouger, and idiot brother in law. I heard something during the last games that I am beginning to believe now that I've seen this place." Matthew gave Tom a warning look as they both walked over to the portrait that held Haymitch’s attention. It was a portrait of Violet and the prior Lord Grantham, Edward, with Robert and his sister Rosamunde when they were young adults.

 

"What's wrong with this picture?" Haymitch asked, his tone snide. " It's funny, you District Ten people put so much bank on breeding but no one questions how this man, " and he pointed at Robert, "looks nothing like his father." Haymitch smirked at him. “I wonder what could have caused that?” Haymitch eyed Tom and then seemed to zero in on how to best be insulting. “Tell me, idiot brother in law who is marrying into the creepy Crawleys…  has the eye gouger told you about what he gets up to in the Capitol? How many heirs to the throne he already has?”

 

Tom’s eyes widened but Matthew could see it wasn’t entirely a surprise to the younger man. “Yes,” Tom said curtly, “I know. And I know what the consequences are if he doesn’t perform so I’m not sure why you’re so delighted to raise the topic. My fiancé will likely be in a similar position when she turns eighteen.”

 

Haymitch tapped the portrait. “Have either of you ever considered that the grand matriarch of this cousin marrying clan just might have been in a similar position? I heard she was quite the favorite of President Snow… But a little distance, and hardly any of these people ever seeing Snow… the fact that someone has the same eyes goes unnoticed, doesn’t it?”

 

In a flash, Matthew realized what Haymitch was suggesting and just how likely it was to be true. He had rarely paid much attention to the rumors that swirled around the peer families but his own father had often joked that it was best Robert had no male heirs, that Patrick would inherent and the title would fall back to the true line, and then his mother would chide him for speaking out of turn. And the Crawley family tended toward blond hair and blue eyes, Violet’s hair had been more red in tone and Robert… and two of Robert’s three daughters were brown haired. Of course, Cora was also fair with dark hair which was likely why there wasn’t more talk. It was also the sort of thing people didn’t want to be true. Edward had needed a son, an estate without an heir led to disarray at best.

 

The problem was that such a revelation would shock Robert and worse, force Robert out of the resistance group. Worse, it would no doubt draw attention to District Ten from the Capitol, and Haymitch was smirking like an ass over it. Because whatever the reason was, District 12 had gotten itself into deep trouble because of its two tributes winning and Haymitch thought he had a way of diverting attention away from whatever his district had done.

 

That wasn’t going to happen. Matthew grabbed Haymitch by the shoulders and slammed him into the wall. “You will shut your mouth, is that understood? You will shut your mouth and not raise this particular topic again.”

 

“Or what?” Haymitch hissed back. He struggled but Matthew knew exactly who would win a fight between them and it certainly wasn’t the drunk, paunchy 42 year old man in the equation.

 

“You call me the eye gouger for a reason, don’t you? Maybe I’ll do that, but first I will rip out your lying tongue and feed it to your companion here who’s only claim to fame is that a girl carried him through the games.” Matthew slammed him again. “Then I will gut you like a pig, and there might be a little bit of trouble but I’ll lie and say you attacked me, and Tom will lie, and I suspect young Peeta here already has enough problems raining down on him that no one will care if he insists it’s not true. I’m sorry that somehow your district has found itself in the shooting sights of the Capitol, I genuinely am, but that does not mean I will allow you to throw my family into chaos. Are we clear? Or do I have to kill you, an act I suspect that would please the Capitol to no end?”

 

Haymitch glared at him but then looked away, to the boy Peeta. “This is why we don’t trust District Ten. They’re too close to their masters.”

 

Matthew let go of him. “Think that all you like, but please understand. I’m not threatening you, I’m _promising_ you what will happen. Are you clear on that?”

 

Haymitch glared more, but he resumed his more nonchalant posing from before. He picked up the glass of whiskey he’d set down before the argument had started. “It’s as clear as the fine crystal this glass is made of.”

 

Matthew let himself relax. I’ll need to talk to Tom, he told himself as Robert stepped into the library. Tom has the good sense to keep his mouth tonight but he’ll have questions. He had questions himself, because as he looked at Robert’s smiling face, he knew Haymitch wasn’t spreading an unfounded rumor, and if Haymitch had heard it then at some point so would Sybil. It just made President Snow’s attention to Sybil seem doubly disgusting.

 

Unless, he realized as he clenched his own glass of whiskey, unless Snow was taking an interest in his grandchild. Protecting his grandchild by declaring her off limits. Which explained how relieved Sybil had been at the games, and it certainly explained why Haymitch was so suspicious. It can wait, he thought as Robert cheerfully showed Peeta the many interesting things in the library, it’s too risky to bring up tonight to anyone and he had grown to like Robert enough that he didn’t want the man to know the truth. Perhaps that’s a good change, he told himself. Not long after his own games, he would have delighted in throwing such a monstrous thing into the man’s face.

 


	27. Chapter 27 - The Quarter Quell Announced

“On the seventy fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that even the strongest among them cannot overcome the Capitol, the male and female tributes will be reaped from their existing pool of victors.”

 

So, that is the price for two victors in one games, Violent sighed. She saw the hands of President Snow all over that particular announcement. It hadn’t escaped her, or anyone with more than a little interest in politics in District 10, that the winners of the 74th Games had somehow triggered unrest all across the Districts. The Quarter Quell Games were always bloody horrors, and she was no fool, this particular horror was designed to eliminated the two symbols from District 12.

 

That it would cost other lives was incidental, of course. Twenty three dead victors would certainly cut down on maintenance costs.

 

She stood up as Spratt rushed in. He’d obviously been watching the news in the servant’s quarters. “Countess…”

 

“I know this evening is your evening off but because of the news, I have no doubt that we’ll be receiving guests within the next few minutes. We’ll start with tea but I suspect we’ll require spirits at some point so please do fetch the good brandy.” She gave Spratt a firm look.

 

He seemed to wilt. “But mum….I…. are you all right?”

I will need to speak to Robert, she thought suddenly. Poor Spratt will need a job after the Quell. “I’m quite well, Spratt. But the news was upsetting so a cup of tea would be most welcome.”

 

He nodded and almost flew out of the sitting room. By the time the first knock came on the door, she was enjoying a cup. Spratt led Dickie McKendrick into the room. She had to smile at his attire. He was in a lavishly decorated silk robe and equally lavish silk pajamas, and several of his flashy rings and necklaces. Dickie was a drunk and a glutton but he had the style of an eccentric gentleman. He looked at her, drunk but alert. “I understand what’s needed, milady. I’m willing.” Then he sighed. “I just doubt it will work.”

 

She patted his half arm gently. “It will work because it has to, Richard. If it means we have to bludgeon good sense into someone, now is the time, so that the marks will be healed by the time of the Reaping.” The door was knocked on again, and in a matter of minutes all the players in the evening’s game were there. Robert, Matthew and Mary with Isobel in tow, and Sybil and her Tom… For an instant, Violet felt her emotions rise up and she forced herself to stay calm. You will see your first great grand child, she reminded herself, and you will see your youngest grandchild marry before you leave this world, and that’s much more than many receive in life. Be grateful, and be strong. “Why don’t we all sit down so we can talk about the day’s news?”

 

She waited until everyone was seated. She looked at Sybil’s worried face and then Robert’s. The easier task first, she decided. “Sybil, if your name is called, I will volunteer. You are not to volunteer for me.”

 

“Granny, no,” Sybil began to protest, tears already welling up in her eyes. Tom put his arm on her shoulder, keeping her in her seat. Robert’s expression was both relieved and horrified. He’s a credit to his father, Violet thought, not for the first time. There were many sons of lords who learned only how to grind their boot heels on the peasants, but Robert had taken all the lessons and lectures and become not just the head of the household but a genuine, respected leader in the community. More’s the pity he had no sons, Violet thought sadly, but Matthew and Tom both viewed him as a father figure of sorts, and there would be grandsons, she was certain of that. He looked like he wanted to say more, but stopped himself. Which was good, because Violet still had the difficult person to convince.

 

“Matthew, Edward will volunteer for you.” She gave Dickie a nod.

 

“If Hodges dies before the Reaping, or if he goes too far down hill to where he can’t say he volunteers,” Dickie said, his words slurring only a little, “then I will.” He gave Matthew and Sybil a surprisingly harsh look. “Don’t fuss about it. You’re both young, there’s a baby coming in days for you, Matthew, and Sybil, you’re about to be married.” Mary, Violet noted, was already nodding. Which was exactly what Violet expected. Mary understood the situation on an instinctive level.

 

Matthew stood up, his expression angry. “I’m not a child. You don’t get to make that decision. It’s bad enough that we’re all at risk. It’s a hundred times worse to manipulate a sick, old man into volunteering for someone he despises. I refuse to allow it. Just let the names be drawn. I’ve no right to live at either Hodge’s or Dickie’s expense.”

 

“Matthew, be quiet,” Isobel said as she also stood up. She looked suddenly fierce. “Cousin Violet is right.”

 

“No, she isn’t,” Matthew shot back, his temper rising. “How can you endorse this? How can you ask me to let a senile old man go to the games in my place? Or a drunk cripple?”

 

Isobel slapped him across the face, rocking him with the force of it. “You will shut your mouth and accept this, Matthew!” she shouted as Robert grabbed Matthew by the shoulders, earning a punch for his troubles as he yanked Matthew back into the chair he’d been sitting in. Isobel didn’t back down, she only waited until Robert had Matthew firmly wrestled in the chair, holding his shoulders down so Matthew couldn’t leap up. Then she shook her finger in his face. “You will accept this, Matthew, because I am not doing this again! I am not going to watch you be murdered because you won’t allow a dying man to take your place. I never took you to task over volunteering for Patrick. You were a child and Patrick was like a brother, and you had no idea that James was such a monster. That was not your fault. But I will not watch you die because your bloody honor as a man gets in the way.”

 

“You’re asking a sick old man to die for me, Mother,” Matthew hissed. “A sick old man who couldn’t stand me when he was still capable of thought. What lie will you tell him to get him to volunteer?”

 

“Dammit, Matthew, he didn’t hate you,” Isobel said, beginning to sound calmer. She sighed. “I know you didn’t know her, but you look so much like his daughter, the one that died in the games, that he couldn’t be around you without his grief overwhelming him. If you knew how many times he had apologized to me, usually after a drunken spat with you, how sorry he was that he kept losing his temper with you…”

 

“She’s right,” Dickie intoned. “He couldn’t stand being reminded of his little girl. It was never about hating you.” He drank from the glass of whisky Sprat had discreetly brought him. “He wants to die. He’d be long dead if it wasn’t for the nurses your mother arranged and in the mornings, when he’s still a little bit himself, he asks me to get him a knife or a razor. He’s a sick old man who knows he’ll never get better and will only get worse. He’s wanted to die for years now. It’s a kindness, letting him volunteer.”

 

Matthew shook his head. “And what if he dies between now and the Reaping? Are you so ready to die? For me?”

 

“Not just for you,” Dickie said. “Although you have grown on me. But I like your mother too much to visit a nightmare on her, not knowing what I know, and you’re forgetting you’re about two weeks away from becoming a father. Does standing on your honor mean so much to you that you’d leave your pretty little wife to raise your child?’

 

As Matthew looked suddenly stricken, Violet was relieved. We’ve won the battle, she thought as Mary went to his side, and Mary will win the war. Still, she was surprised at Mary’s words.

 

“What did you mean, Mr. McKendrick?” Mary asked gently. “Knowing what you know?”

 

Dickie gestured to his immense stomach. “The drinking… I’ve got cirrhosis. If Hodges dies between now and the Reaping… it’s not like I have all that long.”

 

Mary turned to Matthew. “Is that enough? There’s three of you to choose from. One of you is a sixty five year old man who wants to die, one is a man who will die soon regardless, and one is a young man soon to be a father. Is this really so hard, Matthew?”

 

A mistake, Violet realized instantly. Oh it was an effective appeal to Matthew, who could hardly be faulted for being honorable enough to have a problem with Edward Hodges volunteering to die for him. Matthew needed, and it would need to be reinforced until Hodges or Dickie volunteered, to hear that it was acceptable for him to not do what his sense of honor and responsibility told him was right.

 

Sybil jumped to her feet, her eyes flashing in anger. “For god’s sakes Mary, Matthew isn’t more deserving to live, any more than I deserve to live more than Granny.”

 

Violet was prepared for the argument, even though she expected it from Matthew. Still, she thought as she looked her fuming granddaughter in the eye, this rebellion needs to be nipped in the bud. “Be quiet, Sybil. Mary is right. You are almost eighteen. I am seventy-eight. I have lived a long life. I will volunteer if your name is called, and per the rules of volunteering, I am older so even if you insist on raising your hand, I will be the female tribute.” Those rules had never been invoked in District Ten, they had never been necessary. “Matthew, that goes for you as well. You both are admirable in wanting this… abomination to have some semblance of fairness. I respect that, I think everyone in this room respects your willingness to allow the chips to fall where they may. But this is what will happen.”

 

“You’re assuming that I couldn’t win,” Sybil said fiercely. “Or Matthew.”

 

“No,” Tom said, his expression grim. “You’d both be in the final two and then what? You’d kill Matthew? And come home and look your sister in the eyes at the dinner table when you murdered her husband? And Matthew, what if you win? Have you thought about that? How your family might react to you being the reason their sister didn’t come home? That you get to inherit your father in law’s place despite how you killed his youngest child?”

 

Matthew shook off Robert’s hands and dove at Tom, slamming the smaller man into the parlor wall. He drew his fist back to strike and then seemed to realize what he was doing. He let go of Tom abruptly. “I’m sorry.” He looked down, his face red. “I know I should be grateful that everyone’s first thought is to spare me… I need to go for a walk.” He looked at Mary, who was carefully getting up. “Mary, stay here. You’re too close to term to join me.” In seconds, he was gone. Sybil followed him in seconds, but Violet doubted she would catch him. At least not until he allowed it.

 

She turned her attention to Mary. “You were right to chastise me last year. Matthew has changed.” She looked at Isobel and Dickie. “You did well. He needed to hear it, especially from you, Isobel.”

 

Isobel wiped her eyes. “I’d never struck him before… Do you think it was enough? Because I meant it. I can’t do this again.”

 

“Yes.” There was no need to dance around it. “He will accept it because it will hurt you and Mary more if he doesn’t.” And she would need to talk to Mary before the Reaping about how best to ease Matthew’s guilt after. She simply hoped Edward held on until the Reaping. The guilt would be worse if it was Dickie that had to volunteer. She turned to Robert. “Sybil will accept it as well, but you will need to support her. She’ll blame herself for this, because she volunteered. You must not allow her to think that. Tom, that goes for you as well.”

 

“But she did volunteer,” Tom said, his voice quizzical.

 

Robert nodded suddenly. Of course, you understand, Violet thought proudly, you’re so much like Edward. Robert turned to Tom. “Tom,” he said gently, “It really doesn’t matter that Sybil volunteered. If she hadn’t, then there would be only one female victor in District Ten.”

 

“And I’ve made my decision.” She said it easily. “So now that it’s all settled, let’s have some tea.”

 

“I should go find Matthew,” Mary said suddenly. She started to get up.

 

“I’ll go with you,” Tom said.

 

“You’ll do nothing of the sort,” Violet snapped. She relented as she took in Mary’s stricken face. It’s been a hellish evening and the poor girl has had a bad shock. It’s probably lucky she’s not  in labor from the strain. “Mary, you’re with child, and you know Matthew is at the edge of his control. Let him regain his calm before you begin reassuring him that he’s doing the right thing in accepting what we won’t allow him to change. And Tom, that goes for you as well. Give her some time to make peace with it. Now, since it has been a trying evening, perhaps instead of tea, we should have brandy.”

 


	28. Chapter 28 - In the woods

As the ground fell before his pounding feet, he began to realize where he was. It’s lucky, Matthew thought suddenly as he slowed his pace from a loping run to a brisk cool down walk, that I’ll never be asked to be a spy. I’m too much a creature of habit. He was at the old clearing near the fence, where he had, as a child, had a secret hideaway. It was really nothing more than a lean to and a circle of rocks for a fireplace. Before he’d gotten too sick to make the walk, his father had shown the place to him, teaching him how to identify the herbal plants that he and his mother sometimes used with patients who couldn’t afford Capitol medicine. Then Robert had taken on the task of teaching him to stick fight, and partnered him with Mary because Patrick towered over them both for so long, and Mary wanted to practice constantly and it had become their place to meet for practice.

Mary had never returned after Kemal’s attack, and he had never asked her to. There was another place, a grove that was to the south of the Abbey, where they had practiced after. But after the games, it was the place he’d gone to when he couldn’t bear to be around anyone, the place where Mary wouldn’t come even if she was worried about him. It was the place where he had run to when the nightmares and memories were chasing him the most, because it was a secret place and it was a quiet place where he could wrestle with his inner demons without worrying that he’d upset anyone. It was oddly a place of peace for him.

He took a seat leaning against one of the logs, facing the trail, remembering how he and Mary would sometimes have picnics there. It seemed so long ago, with their carefully packed paper bags with sandwiches and apples. I was in love then, he realized suddenly, with the girl that Patrick was supposed to marry, and I felt so bad for both of them. Who knew it would end up so different?

The quiet and darkness of the woods let him slow his racing thoughts and really think about the situation. It was because of the two victors in District Twelve, or more realistically, the girl. The girl had been defiant. Mildly defiant but defiant, and she had made the Capitol bend. One of the reasons he maintained contact with Clodia, some fellow victors, and certain patrons in the Capitol through the internet link with his computer was so that he had a good idea of what was really happening outside of District Ten. There were problems. Not uprisings but nearly so in several districts. District Twelve and District Eleven had been smacked down with new Peacekeeper battalions. Districts 3,4, 5, 6 and 7 were rumbling discontent, and it was becoming more and more common for supplies to not come as ordered. District Ten was lucky to be relatively self sufficient, Because they had to feed the cows for dairy and meat production, they did grow corn, which people could use for bread. And they were, the costs for flour and imported vegetables from Districts 8 and 11 had shot up in price. No one in District Ten would go hungry, the peasants and stock workers were allowed gardens even on the worst estates. Cabbage, potatoes, carrots, and turnips were dull food, but no one would starve if supplies from District 11 ceased. Some of the other Districts, 4, 9,and possibly 7, were in a similar position, able to scrape by if food supplies were halted, but if supplies were short in District Ten, then they were likely short everywhere. It wasn’t quite an uprising, he suspected no one wanted to call it that, but there was something provoking the districts and it centered around the girl from District Twelve.

Which, he suspected, was unintentional on her part. She had been charming and innocent seeming in her interviews, and her tactics in the game showed her wit, but he had the sense that Katniss Everdeen wanted what most victors wanted, to fade into the woodwork and to not be reminded of the games. More the pity then that the Quell was designed to kill her. Every other District had two female victors. And he wasn’t going to lie to himself. He was young and reasonably fit, and certainly at more of an advantage than when he’d been in the games at a young 15. He wasn’t a Career tribute, or a Career victor, and some of the Career victors kept fighting fit as a matter of pride. He had reason to win, certainly, but he was known as a clever trickster. He’d be targeted. So would Sybil, for similar reasons. It wasn’t impossible for him to win, but it wasn’t a sure thing by any means.

And, he thought darkly as he watched the stars twinkle in the evening sky, I can’t do this to Mother. Not again. Mary and the baby were a factor as well, but the moment his mother had slapped his face, he had understood. I’d be killing myself, he thought darkly, and I promised her that I wouldn’t ever do that. Which means I have to let this happen, even though I know it means letting a sick old man die a terrifying death.

He suddenly heard the crackling of feet stepping on brush. Not quite running but walking at a quick pace. He jumped to his feet and looked for a weapon. The obvious thought flashed in his mind, it was Mary trudging through the woods looking for him. Or Tom, looking for Sybil, or Sybil herself. Matthew was dimly aware that she had followed him out of Violet’s house. But it could also be one of Flavio’s men, sent to fetch him lest he do something suicidal at the news of the Quarter Quell. He looked around the clearing and grabbed up one of the old staffs and twirled it. He still did the forms, and had even gotten to where he could spare with Mary and even Robert without losing control. If it was a Peacekeeper, the stick would make them back off.

But it wasn’t a Peacekeeper, it was Sybil, her face tear stained and sounding breathless like she’d been running through the woods for some time. “Matthew…” She held up her hands in surrender. “I won’t touch you. I just wanted to talk. About the Quell and what we’re going to do.”

He lowered the staff just a little. “I thought you were a Peacekeeper. And there’s nothing to discuss. The decision has been made.”

“I didn’t decide anything.” She said it defiantly. “We can’t let them do this.”

Oh good lord, Matthew thought tiredly, why am I always the one who has to do this? That it had to be done was a given. He grabbed up one of the other fighting sticks and tossed it to her. She caught it, despite looking like a frightened deer in the woods.

“Matthew, are you all right?” She gave him a wary look as he warmed up by twirling his own stick. “Do you know where you are? I’m Sybil, your cousin… I didn’t come to fight you…” Still, she took on a more martial stance.

“But we are going to fight, Sybil.” He stepped in and tapped her staff, the way Robert had taught them all to signal the start of a match. “And don’t worry, I’m not lost to reason. If it needs to be said, I’m in District Ten, and you’re Sybil, the stupidest member of the Crawley family. Yet again.”

She scowled at him, bristling at the insult. “I’m not stupid, and I don’t want to fight you. What’s gotten into you?”

He smacked her staff hard in response. It almost came out of her hands as she struggled to parry. Control, he reminded himself, stay in control. She learns nothing if you genuinely lose control. “You’ll never win the Quell fighting like that.” He made a point of slamming his staff into her left arm, the one that had been broken in the games. He didn’t need to see her wince to know it hurt. “They’ll go for your arm. Whoever volunteers in District One and Two, and it will be volunteers, and they will decide amongst themselves who has the best chance of winning, will spend the next few months training and learning the weaknesses of all their potential opponents. They’ll go for my head… I have a known concussion issue.”

“God, Matthew, are you drunk? Is that why you’re being such an ass?” She did raise her guard up, and tried a tricky foot sweep that he’d learned to defend against from practice with Mary. Her temper was up, he could see it on her face and for a furious few minutes they traded parries and blows. Then he stepped into her space in a rush, sweeping her off her feet so that she was laid out on the ground. He put his foot on her chest to keep her down, and then swung the stick down, slamming it into the ground next to her ear. He could see her tremble.

“Look at that,” he said with forced cheer to make the point. “If this was the Quell… you’d be dead.”

“Is…” Her entire body shook under his foot. “Is that really your point, Matthew? That if you took me by surprise, you could kill me?”

“No,” Matthew said pleasantly. “But it is how I knock some sense into you. Do you know what your problem really is, Sybil? You don’t listen until someone makes you listen. My main chore for the last two years has been stop you from doing something stupid because you refuse to see what’s right in front of your face unless you’re slapped with it.” He took his foot off her chest, and dropped the staff. “We have to let them protect us, Sybil. It stings my soul as much as it stings yours.”

“It’s not right,” Sybil hissed at him.

“None of this is right, Sybil.” He held out his hand to her, and after a moment she took it. He pulled her up off the ground. “None of this is right, none of this is fair. The last thing I want is for a sick, senile, dying old man to die in my place. The last thing you want is to live knowing your grandmother died in your place.”

“We can insist,” Sybil said firmly. “We’re not children.”

“I won’t.” He crossed his arms, to keep warm. The heat of the fight was gone and now the coolness of the night was chilling. “If I went to the Quell, I’d most likely die. Frankly, I think the Capitol’s plan is for all of the victors to die in this. Once I was dead, it would break my mother into pieces. She’d likely follow. If you went, you’d die. I already proved that. And you’d break your parents into pieces and your death would be the blow that sends your grandmother to the grave. She’s not offering to volunteer to spare you, she’s sparing herself the horror of burying you.” He could see tears welling up in her eyes. “If you think I don’t hate this, you’re wrong. I hate this so much… If President Snow was here right now, I’d kill him with my bare hands, and I’d take my time so he suffered. Because it all goes back to him.” Even what happened with Mary and Kemal so long ago, he realized suddenly, it was all due to the Capitol.”

Sybil wiped her eyes. “He’s my grandfather, you know. He told me. He had me tested after I won… because he wondered about Papa.” She crossed her own arms, as if she was trying to hold the secret in. “He said I was off limits…”

Of course he did, Matthew thought tiredly, and he probably thought he was being magnanimous in telling her, and in making it clear she wasn’t expected to submit to rape because he was protecting her. “That’s not your fault, it’s not your father’s fault, and it’s certainly not Violet’s fault. That’s Snow’s fault… he’s the one behind this.” He hesitated. “You have to accept this, Sybil.”

“I don’t want this,” she said finally. Then she shook with the force of her sobbing, and Matthew  dropped the staff he was holding and took her into his arms. For the longest moment, all he did was hold her as she shook from crying, and he wasn’t so strong that when he finally pulled, he had to wipe his eyes as well. “We should head back. I imagine everyone is worried sick. And we need to plan for the games regardless.”

“What do you mean,” Sybil asked as she took his arm. “I swear you left bruises everywhere…”

“I didn’t even come close to your face, because the wedding is close at hand,” Matthew almost laughed as he spoke. The things one has to worry about, he mused, when you have to beat some sense into your female cousin. “And we both need to train for the games. They’re three months away.”

“But we’re…” Sybil seemed to steel herself. “We’re letting Granny and Mr. Hodges volunteer for us.”

“Yes,” Matthew agreed, glad she said it out loud. “But by rights, Edward Hodges should have died last year. He could die tomorrow and there would be no shock or surprise. If Dickie has cirrhosis, there’s little that Mother can do to keep him well. And your grandmother is admittedly, a hale and hearty seventy eight year old woman, but she is seventy eight. We won’t be safe until the Reaping. Everything may go exactly as Violet wants it to go, but one or both of us could end up fighting.” Although it was more likely Sybil who had to worry. For all Hodges was sick, the old man had outlived any number of his mother’s patients who were far sicker. And he doubted Dickie’s tale of cirrhosis because an actual diagnosis was exactly the sort of thing his mother would have mentioned and chided him about whenever he had a glass of wine. “We have to be prepared.”

“Yes…” She looked at him, her expression grim but her eyes suddenly impish. “Doesn’t… doesn’t Dickie keep one of his alcoholic ventures out here? And don’t we have reason to… say to hell with our District Ten manners?”

~*~

Mary set down the tray and carefully sat down on the porch chair that was next to the futon where Matthew was lying in a heap. He slowly raised his head at the sound of the tray and then winced and groaned and covered his head with the blanket she’d thrown over him hours earlier.

“It’s ten am,” she said brightly as she picked up her cup of tea. “I brought you tea, toast, and some aspirin for the dreadful hangover you must have. And I want to thank you for how you made sure to put Sybil on her side on the futon in the conservatory so she didn’t choke on her own vomit during the night. Tom will appreciate that as well.” She waited a long moment, knowing he was awake but probably not quite ready to face the music.

“I feel terrible…” he muttered under the blanket.

“I’m not surprised,” she said easily. “If Dickie is to be believed, you and Sybil stole all of his finest homemade liqueurs and went to the Abbey and dared Papa to out drink you. He tried to talk some sense into you both, and then joined in your little parade of debauchery. Then you both went into the cemetary and tipped over gravestones… Oh and you poured several bottles of whiskey on Lavinia and William’s graves and then came here at four in the morning demanding… what was it? Oh that’s right, peanut butter, banana and bacon sandwiches. You tore up the kitchen, and before you even ate the bloody sandwiches, Sybil had fallen asleep in the conservatory. You stumbled out here and here we are.”

“Ugh.” Finally he uncovered his head and looked at her. “What… what happened to the sandwiches?”

“Mosely and I ate them.” She patted her large belly. “They were surprisingly delicious and the baby settled down almost immediately, so I will forgive a great deal about this night.” She waited a long moment, afraid to ask the question she desperately needed the answer to. “Are you going to accept what Edward will do for you?”

She felt a rush of relief when he nodded slowly. “I won’t put you or Mother through it again,” he said slowly.

“And Sybil?” she asked. She had realized after the hellish meeting the night before that it was genuinely Sybil who was resisting it. Without Sybil, Matthew would have needed to have some time to himself, she wasn’t a fool, but that was Matthew making peace with the idea that he had to do something he hated. The truth, Mary suspected, that Matthew was probably relieved, deep down, and beating himself up over  his reasons for agreeing to it. Sybil was the surprise, the angry surprise. No one had expected Sybil to fuss much over it.

He slowly sat up, wincing as he carefully reached for the cup of tea. “I had to beat some sense into her… Don’t frown at me like that, she’s more stubborn than you, and you’re very stubborn, and your whole family and Tom indulge it and leave me with the chore of making her see reason.”

“What did you do?” She wondered. He was right about Sybil, she knew that as soon as he said the words. “I trust you didn’t hurt her.”

“Oh, she’ll be sore.” Matthew sipped his tea. At her inquiring look, he added, “I showed her how unlikely it was for her to win. That means she’s going to hurt for the next few days, but don’t worry, I didn’t get her in the face. Tom will have a pretty bride for the wedding.” He took in her questioning glance. “We fought. With staves.  I went after her arm, the one that she broke, that she favors when it rains. She’s half my height and has half my reach and I didn’t hold back. She’ll be sore, and no one gets to be mad about that because it got left to Crazy Cousin Matthew to teach Sybil how to not be stupid.” He sniffed derisively. “I was upset, Mary, because I never considered the idea that someone in this world would ever try to spare me the consequences of my own stupidity. I was stupid to volunteer, if you knew how many times Edward Hodges said that very thing to me… The idea that he would volunteer for me seemed laughable. And I am not entirely convinced that he will have any real understanding of what he’s volunteering for but… I do believe he’d prefer death to the life he’s currently living.” Matthew gave her a concerned look. “Sybil doesn’t have that pleasure, you do understand that? Deep down, we all know Violet is sacrificing herself for Sybil, and that she’d prefer dying in her bed of old age.”

“Yes.” It hurt to say it, to know that the next few months before the Reaping were the last she’d spend with her grandmother. It was worse for Papa, she reminded herself, and Matthew is safe so I have to accept the good with the bad. “But she will agree?”

“She will. Violet is right. The rules allow her to override Sybil volunteering. I could… make a sound argument against Hodges being in his right mind, but I won’t.” He drank more deeply from the cup of tea. “Sybil and I will be training for the games, regardless. I know you think the matter is solved but Hodges could die any time between now and the Reaping and so could Dickie.”

Mary nodded in understanding. “And so could Granny. We see her as invincible somehow, but she is an elderly woman and this has been a shock.” More of a risk for Sybil than Matthew, she realized. She rather thought Dickie was exaggerating his health woes.

“I don’t know how things could get much worse,” Matthew admitted.

And it was time to remind him of what was important. “Then let it get better,” she said as she took his hand and placed it on her stomach so he could feel the baby kick. It worked. A smile lit up Matthew’s face as he let his hand rest on her stomach.

“The baby is kicking up a storm,” he said after a moment. “Doesn’t that hurt?”

“Not as much as you might think,” she said with a laugh. “But I think I’ll have Mosely make us another round of those dreadful sandwiches to settle the baby down.”

 


	29. Chapter 29 - Robert's Revelations

Robert realized when he asked Tom and Matthew to join him on a walk around the estate that they were suspicious of what he wanted. Not terribly suspicious, he suspected they both knew him too well to think he was leading them out into the woods for some nefarious purpose, but they were concerned just the same. As they came into the small, hidden clearing, he admitted it. “I wanted to talk with the two of you, privately. About the Reaping and what could happen.” He gave them both a dark look. “This is not to be shared. I am only including the most trustworthy of our friends in knowing what I am about to tell you.”

“Go ahead then, Robert.” Matthew crossed his arms. “I don’t know how you think I can help. I have to go to the Games, which makes me useless. As usual.”

It occurred to Robert suddenly, that Matthew really did see himself as a sort of useless ornament, a hindrance instead of help. It made sense. After being outside the circle of District Ten society for so long, Matthew didn’t see that most of the landholders were yes, relieved that he was no longer too damaged to function, but also well pleased that he was shaping up to be an excellent leader. I’ll need to reinforce him, Robert thought, if it goes as badly as I think it will. “Actually, with the news I have, you won’t be useless at all. I received a report from… the people who we give supplies to.” He paused. Lord Merton and Sir Anthony had agreed that Matthew and Tom were to be trusted with the information, but it was still odd to say it out loud. “We’ve been supplying District 13.”

“I wondered,” Tom said quickly. “I knew they had to be organized and I never bought that such a technical marvel as District 13 was burned to a husk.”

After a moment, Matthew nodded. “I’ve heard… some inklings of something like that. Are they planning something?”

“Yes,” Robert said, “and we’re lucky to find out because District Ten was intentionally cut out of the planning.” There were good reasons for that, and bad ones, reasons he wasn’t going to share. “One of the women, who I’ve dealt with since I was a boy, gave me some information about what they’re planning. She was worried that by cutting us out, we’d find ourselves defenseless, and didn’t want those loyal to the resistance to be destroyed.”

“What are they planning?” Matthew asked. “It hasn’t escaped me, or Tom, or Mary and Sybil for that matter, that any number of the districts are dealing with uprisings.”

“They think the new victors from 12 are being targeted and that they could be used as symbolic leaders for a new war.” It chilled him to say it. “I don’t think they’re wrong. They’re planning to disrupt the Games, to rescue the District 12 victors to show all the districts that the Capitol isn’t impregnable. The second they do this, the Capitol will attack us all and we need to prepare. Lord Merton, Sir Anthony and I have made the decision that when the attack occurs, we will take everyone who wants to fight and everything we can use to fight and go under the wire.”

“To where?” Tom asked. “District 13? They must be living underground.”

Robert unfurled the map he’d brought. “Yes, they do live underground but no. We’re going north, into the mountains. Before the war, we used to own hunting camps and… there’s been some reconnaissance over the years. It’s far enough away that we can keep the women and children safe, and we can still grow crops and provide food, but close enough that we can make strikes. We’re only approaching those we trust. I won’t lie, the safer plan is to just keep our heads down and ride it out… But I’ve decided this has to end. If that means I lose Downton, that I’m killed, then so be it. Things have to change.”

“If we win,” Tom crossed his arms, his expression dark, “we might not want to be ruled by lords and landholders, have you considered that? The Capitol would delight in burning your estate to the ground. If they don’t, the people left behind might claim it as their own, a spoil of war.”

Robert grew angry. “Perhaps, Tom, it may shock you to learn that I’d far rather be the poorest peasant in the field than lord and landholder if it meant I didn’t have to choose between my mother and my daughter being murdered. I would give up everything to know that my grandchildren won’t be standing in the town square praying their names aren’t chosen. If that means I live in a shack for the rest of my life, so be it. If that means I die in this uprising, so be it. It would be worth it.”

Tom looked embarrassed. “I didn’t mean to sound harsh. But you need to know that not every peasant and stockworker would view joining a rebellion led by the lords to be a better thing than what they’ve already got.”

“I do know that, Tom. But I am willing to accept the change in power. If we win the war, our world will change.” Robert sighed. “Although I do like to think the people on my holdings don’t view me as a monster. Frankly Tom, one thing I need you to do is act as an intermediary. If there are people who can’t be trusted, I need to know that because all it takes is one person running to Head Peacekeeper Flavio and we’re all dead.” Which had always been the fear associated with rebellion, but with the knowledge that things were going to blow up no matter what, it was time to stop playing at rebellion. “We have to have people prepared to move when the attack comes. And Matthew, you have a difficult task. My source says the attack will take place during the Games. You and Sybil won’t be in the Arena…”

“We may not be in the Arena,” Matthew corrected, his tone curt.

“If you are,” Robert said, letting his own words grow curt as well, “then attach yourself to the girl from 12 since she’s the only one they’re concerned with, and she’s the only way you’ll get out alive. But Hodges seemed quite well this morning, and so did McKendrick as he waved to me, and my mother seemed quite well when she was inviting me to walk with her later today. The Reaping is just a week away. It’s very likely that you and Sybil will be just mentors. My source from District 13 made it sound as though victors in the Capitol were likely to be targeted after the attack.”

Matthew’s eyes widened in surprise and understanding. “Because,” he said quietly, “the only way the girl from 12 can be rescued is if there is a victor conspiracy.” He considered it carefully. “We wouldn’t be included. Because…” Matthew seemed to stop himself. “Because we’re rich, in the eyes of the other victors, and we’re family… so we can’t be trusted.”

Robert wanted to sigh, but didn’t. It hurt, because Matthew was lying to spare him, but it also meant there was a chance that Matthew and Sybil might be spared and that meant that for once the family secret was useful. “A lot of district victors weren’t included but you’ll all be targeted once they suspect the victors might be involved. But… I suspect that Sybil at least might be spared. Because of President Snow’s interest.” After a long moment, both younger men nodded acknowledgement of that. Good, Robert thought, because I don’t want to discuss the truth out loud. “My concern, Matthew, is that this… protection might extend to you, and that would be lovely. It won’t extend to McKendrick,” because Snow would need at least one victim to trot out for a show trial, “and I could be wrong with my assumption about you being spared. If you are, then I entrust you with bringing Sybil back to District 10, or to the escape community we’re going to run to. If you aren’t included…” Robert took a deep breath. “You have to convince her to leave the Capitol without you. I pray it doesn’t come to that but you know how she is.”

Matthew pursed his lips. “I can’t say I haven’t had similar thoughts about President Snow.” He seemed to steel himself, and then looked Robert in the eyes. “I give you my word, Robert. If something happens and only Sybil is allowed to escape, I will choke her into submission and throw her on the train myself if necessary. And if by some chance we’re both allowed to escape, I will see to it that she is kept safe.” He waved his hand, including Tom. “If you’re running when the attack occurs, then I expect the two of you to see to Mary, and baby George, and my mother. And Mosely. Mary will see the sense of it, you won’t have any trouble there, but Mother may think she’s needed here because she’s the only clinician the stockworkers trust. You will make sure she goes under the wire with you, Robert.”

“Of course,” Robert agreed.

“If I have to choke your mother into submission to get her to leave,” Tom added with a laugh, “I will.” He held out his hand to Matthew. “You have my word, Matthew I will protect your family like it’s my own. Because it is, and because I know you’ll protect my Sybil like your own. You already have. I know you’ve protected her at the Capitol.” He then turned to Robert. “It sounds like we have a lot of planning to do.”

“We’re already positioning supplies,” Robert nodded as he spoke. Then he handed Matthew a small map. “This is where we’re going. You need to memorize this. And I need to get going. I have an appointment with my mother.” An appointment he was dreading but needed to have all the same.

~*~

Violet found herself oddly tongue tied as she set the flowers down on Rosamunde’s grave. “I admit,” she said to Robert as he also placed flowers, “I still find myself surprised to not see Rosamunde walking with you.” Rosamunde had been all of twenty three, soon to be married, when she had collapsed one morning and died. An aneurysm, unpreventable according to the doctor, and she had never had reason to find fault with Dr. Reginald Crawley’s other diagnoses. “I wish she had lived long enough to have children.”

“I wish she had as well,” Robert said easily. “But we all have wishes that go unfulfilled. Father used to say that, whenever I found my fate of following him as the Earl of Grantham to be too onerous.” He smiled slightly. “He was very wise. I wish I’d said that to him more often.” He looked at her. “As much as I pray for a miracle, that you’ll return from these games… I know that’s unlikely. Thank you, for Sybil. Thank you for forcing the most headstrong of my daughters to not throw her life away in a second grand gesture that she has no chance of surviving.”

“She deserves to live her life. I’m an old woman, with children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren” She waited a long moment. “I will miss these walks with you, Robert. I have been blessed in this life to have two wonderful children. But… knowing what I know, that the end is near, I feel we must discuss something that’s been kept secret. Something that I feel you must know, since I’ve kept the secret long enough and with this fighting, it could be used against you.” She struggled not to cry.

Robert looked at her, and then at the family gravestones. “I know who my father is, Mother.” He turned to her, a wry smile on his face. “Let me put it a better way. My father is the man who raised me to be a gentleman and a leader. He’s the man who showed me from the day I was born, how a real man acts and how a real man shows his love and respect for his family. He was the man who taught me that some of the things my mother had to do to survive and to come back to us were so terrible, she hadn’t been able to bear telling him. But he knew, and he understood… He was strong and he was the one who told me after some school boys teased me about… an unpleasant theory of my parentage, that he was my father no matter what ugly thing was said and that while like any man, he would have liked more children, he loved and cherished the two that he had.” Robert looked her in the eye. “There’s no reason to say what you’re about to say, Mama.”

She looked at the gravestone, her husband’s grave. “It’s… a surprise,” she admitted, carefully dabbing her eyes with a hankerchief. “I didn’t know he knew. I thought…”

“You thought he’d be angry,” Robert finished for her. “Because you weren’t able to have children after I was born and that meant he had no true heir. So, I will tell you what he told me, that I was the son of his heart and he had no regrets. He told me that if you ever raised the topic after he was gone, to tell you that he loved you, and that he loved the son and daughter you gave him.”

Which was so like Edward, Violet realized. It eased her heart. “When did you find out?”

“When the boys at school said I was a Capitol changeling.” He chuckled. “That fight I had, when I was eleven and I broke the cheekbones of the Honorable Stephen Winchester? It wasn’t about his stealing my school work, it was because he said you were a whore for the elite at the Capitol and I was obviously a whore’s son since I didn’t look like any of my cousins. That was when I asked Papa.”

“Did… he tell you who it was?” Of course, Violet realized as she spoke, Edward would never have been certain. The danger wasn’t that Robert was a Capitol changeling. It was in his being President Snow’s biological son from a dalliance with a victor.

Robert shook his head. “No. He had his suspicions, but he refused to share them, because I was his son and not this other man’s son… But I had my own suspicions. Suspicions that my own daughter, of all people confirmed.” He grinned suddenly. “I know you didn’t approve of my joining Matthew and Sybil on their drunken rampage through the district, but as we were vandalizing the church, Sybil did reveal why President Snow had such an interest in her.” He shrugged nonchalantly. “I suspect she doesn’t even remember telling me. Matthew apparently already knew, he wasn’t surprised at all.” He waited a long moment. “There was a blood test.”

Get past it, Violet told herself. He doesn’t need to know that you always hoped to be wrong. “I’m glad you know, then. I thought I was going to shock you. You understand this puts you and your wife and daughters in danger?”

“From both sides,” Robert said easily. “It wouldn’t work, but if it occurred to me that President Snow could be extorted over this, it has occurred to others. That and how Sybil for example could be used, the way they’re planning to use this District 12 girl. There’s something planned. Did you know?”

“Not officially.” It paid to maintain friendships, however. “I don’t know any of the details. If Matthew or Sybil were in real danger of being tributes, I suspect they’d be brought in but that won’t happen. They’re still at risk by being in the Capitol when this happens.”

“I’ve warned Matthew. I will warn Sybil more strenuously that she is to listen to Matthew. And I’ve made plans.” Robert looked to say more but she held up her hand to stop him.

“I don’t need to know more,” she said easily. Whatever was going to happen, she doubted very much that she would last long enough in the Arena to see it. If she did manage to survive, she had no doubt that all surviving tributes would be grabbed and interrogated. “You will keep the family safe. That’s all I can ask and exactly what I hope for.” She looked him in the eye, and saw the doubt he had, the doubt that she realized had been inside of him ever since he was a little boy. “Your father was very proud of you, Robert. He told me, before he died, that if there was one thing he was content about, it was that he had a fine son to carry on.” If there was a saint in the whole sordid story, she thought suddenly, it was Edward who never once even hinted a suspicion to her that he knew about Robert’s ancestry. He will chastise me soundly when I see him next, she mused, and that will be soon enough. The Reaping was only a few days away.


	30. Chapter 30 - The Quell Reaping

Even knowing he’d be spared by a volunteer, Matthew felt sick as he waited in the front row for the Reaping to begin. Made worse that poor Hodges, trained by diligent nurses and his mother to mutter “I volunteer” had died the day before the Reaping, leaving Dickie to be the sacrifice. The only savings grace to the whole ugly business was the yellow tinge to Dickie’s eyes and skin. The illness the man professed to have wasn’t a lie, it was indeed a sick man with just a few months to live that was volunteering for him. 

He could hear the crowd muttering its displeasure behind him. He had to admit, the hostility surprised him. He would have thought that people would be relieved to know their own children were all safe for another year but instead the grumbling was about how unfair it was. How victors were promised lives of luxury and safety, how Violet, Sybil, Dickie and he had followed the rules and done what was required. How they were being punished for winning. It surprised him. It also worried him. It hadn’t occurred to him that the district felt strongly about the victors. That there was grumbling at all was shocking, District 10 was known for its stoic composure and silence.

Clodia looked quite pale as she went to the raised dais that held the clear drums that were usually loaded with slips of paper. Matthew suspected she was horrified. Clodia was in some ways a stereotypical Capitol citizen, she could spout the party line as well as anyone but he’d gotten the sense that she did like her victors and she often was kind to the tributes. She went to the drum for the women and picked out a slip. Her face went white as she read it. “Lady Violet Crawley.”

“Good,” Violet said softly. Matthew wasn’t sure in anyone else had even heard her. She rose to her feet and walked in a slow, stately fashion to the podium and ignored Clodia’s weak attempts to welcome her as a tribute. Violet went right to the microphone. The crowd murmured in an ugly way.

Violet waved them quiet. “Thank you for the lovely opportunity.” She said it easily. Then she looked over the grumbling crowd, her eyes intent. “I prefer having my name called directly rather than needing to volunteer for the honor as a late wedding gift for my dear granddaughter.”

Clever, Matthew realized. It wasn’t going to ease Sybil’s pain, the girl was struggling not to cry, but Violet was ending a problem before it started. Some of the anger in the crowd was the idea of an elderly woman being sent to the games when a younger woman could have volunteered. Now, no one would ever be cross to Sybil because to do so would be to disrespect the sacrifice that Violet was making for her. The District knew now that Violet had approved of Sybil not volunteering.

As Violet took her seat as tribute, Clodia went back to the drums. Matthew clenched his hands into fists at his side. Please don’t say my name, he prayed. Truth be told, he wasn’t sure what would be worse, having his name called only for poor Dickie to volunteer, or having Dickie’s name called and letting the man go to his death.

He knew, by the relief on Clodia’s face, what name would be called. She looked out over the crowd. “Richard McKendrick!”

“That’s about right,” Dickie muttered as he heaved himself up. He gave Matthew a small shove and then shouted, “I said keep your damn mouth shut this time!” Then he winked at Matthew and began sauntering up to the podium. The shocked crowd was silent, and then applauded fiercely.

I don’t deserve that, Matthew thought even as he felt faint from relief. Dickie was doing him a similar favor. When people talked about the Quell, it was now understood in the minds of the crowd that Dickie had stopped him from volunteering for him. Matthew had planned to simply bear the anger that was inevitable once people started questioning his decision to not volunteer. He turned around in his seat in time to catch his mother dabbing her eyes with her handkerchief and suddenly understood. Dickie had always had a fondness for Isobel. Not many people in the district had ever reached out to the man, most were content with the idea that he had won the games and if he wanted to drink himself to death, that was his right. It was just Isobel Crawley who had kept him from an early grave more than once. He’s returning the favor, Matthew realized suddenly, the only way he can. It made it bearable, if still difficult. If he didn’t deserve to have another man die for him, he could at least accept that Dickie was saving him because Dickie wanted to spare Isobel Crawley the pain of losing her son.

Looking shell shocked, Clodia made the announcement that it was time for the tributes to say good bye to well wishers. Violet and Dickie were escorted to the town hall but much to Matthew’s surprise, the crowd didn’t disperse. In fact, there was a massive line up to see the tributes. Robert and his family were being allowed through, although Matthew knew the real good byes had been said before the Reaping.

Sybil was sobbing, of course. Tom had made his way through the milling crowd and was consoling her. The young man had also deftly gotten between her and the Capitol cameras so there would be no dramatic news report showing her crying. A good thing, Matthew thought, and Tom was a good man for thinking of it. He made a point of going to them. “Let’s get to the train station, before this crowd starts heading there.” The crowd didn’t exactly make him nervous, they weren’t angry with him but the anger rolling through the crowd like a wave threatened to crash somewhere. And at the end of the day, they had to get on the train. Tom nodded his agreement, and in minutes they were on the platform.

Much to his surprise, Mary was there, holding George. She smiled at his expression. “You aren’t rid of us that easily, Mr. Crawley.”

He leaned in and kissed her, and then took George in his arms to have one last unexpected cuddle. “I just thought…”

“That I would see Granny off.” Her eyes grew tight with unshed tears. “We said our real goodbyes before, and they’re moving people in and out quite quickly. So I thought I would join you until they insist you get in the train.”

“That won’t be long.” The mentors were loaded before the tributes left the staging area for the final goodbyes. He looked into her deep brown eyes and found himself repeating what he had said the night before. “Promise me you’ll do exactly what Tom and your father tell you to do.”

“You know, we’re both Crawleys,” Mary chided him with a smile. “If you tell me to do something, I’m just as likely to do the opposite just to spite you, and deep down, you know you’re the same.” She leaned in and kissed him. “But this time, so you don’t worry, I’ll agree. Even if you are leaving me in the care of Papa’s chauffeur.”

“Yes, and your brother in law now, don’t forget.” She playfully swatted him as she took back George. “Tom and I will also keep an eye on your mother, although she’s much more likely to be in our business while you’re away. She does devote herself to you and then poor Dickie and Hodges…” Her face fell at the mention, but only a little. “I do wish there was something for her to keep occupied with.”

“Well, she does have a lovely grandson,” Matthew noted, although he knew Cora and Edith both tended to vie for time with George as well. “But I do have an idea that will irritate her, keep her busy and out of your hair, and also be a kind thing. Poor Dickie was never one to plan. I’m sure he’s left his precious cats in his house with not a word to anyone on where he wanted them to go. Tell Mother that Dickie asked me to ask her to take care of the poor things.” Dickie’s three cats were an amusing source of irritation to the neighborhood. One was a somnolent elderly gray male that barely moved from its bed to its food bowl, one was a hugely fat black and white male who spent most of its time on Dickie’s lap waiting for more food, and the third was still a kitten, a hissing tiger striped beast that clawed or bit anyone that picked it up except for Dickie, Matthew, and oddly enough Mary. Even the neighborhood dogs were afraid of it.

“Hmm… I didn’t realize you secretly wished ill towards your mother,” Mary joked. “You do realize that means those cats will end up living in your house?”

“I don’t wish ill towards my mother,” he noted. “But I did always want a pet cat, and she always said no, and sometimes, Mary, my revenge is petty. Thorough, and petty.”

“I hope and pray I never find myself the target of your thorough yet petty plans of vengeance.” She leaned in and hugged him. “Come back. I am as afraid for you now as I was when you first went. Do whatever it takes to come back to George and I, and tell Sybil that goes for her as well. Promise me.”

“I promise.” Inside, he prayed it wouldn’t be as hard as he thought to keep that promise.

~*~  
Violet took one look at Clodia’s tear stained face and made a decision. If this is my fate, she decided, then there’s no reason to not make the most of the situation. “Dear Clodia, stop crying. I assume you have our quarters nicely arranged, and there’s no nervous tribute for you to chat with.” She eyed the younger woman with amusement. “Perhaps we could move the display of the giant tray of sandwiches and pastries up? And perhaps there should be adult beverages.” Dickie started to chuckle, and she had an idea. “Make those sandwiches as fancy and decadent as possible. Dickie, I recall you regaling me with how delightful something called a lobster roll was.” She turned back to Clodia. “How fancy can our meals be? Go find out, and tell Matthew to fetch himself here.” Sybil, she suspected, needed a little more time.

“I suppose the meals could be quite fancy,” Clodia said. The young woman blinked back tears and then clutched Violet’s arm. “You’re being so very brave, Lady Crawley.” Then the Capitol woman rushed out of the train car.

“If you don’t mind my asking, milady,” Dickie asked, “what are we doing?” He was quizzical but she had seen his face light up at the mention of the lobster rolls. 

“Is there any point in being miserable, Mr. McKendrick? The situation is what it is. Why can’t we at least enjoy ourselves? Even such a connoisseur as yourself must have a few menu items you haven’t tried and for once I won’t chide you for trying it and then sending it back for something different. I plan to join you.”

Dickie nodded, a small smile coming to his face. “Then you have to try bacon ice cream tonight at dinner.”

“Perhaps we should have nothing but ice cream for dinner,” Violet found it amusing. “But we’ll need to order some cake so that Matthew isn’t too terribly behaved. And look, speak of the devil.” Matthew was entering the rail car, looking tired and sad but at least forcing himself to go through the motions. 

He looked at them both. “Clodia said you wanted to see me?” He managed a smile. “Do I really need to explain to you both how the food is lovely and you should be eating?”

“We’ve already ordered something unusually decadent for our lunch,” Violet said easily, “but I seem to recall someone at Sybil’s wedding dazzling young Tom’s relatives with ridiculously complex cocktails. I’ve never had a margarita. Get behind the rail car bar, and make one for me. And for yourself, of course.”

“If we’re having margaritas,” Dickie noted with amusement, “then we should order fish tacos, salsa, and tortilla chips. And shrimp burritos.”

Oh, what fresh hell is that, Violet wondered, but Matthew smiled at Dickie’s suggestion, and she had been the one to suggest new things. It was at that moment that Sybil entered the rail car. She had clearly freshened up and washed away the tear stains and was gamely trying to smile despite the situation. She positively glowed with health, which made Violet’s decision all the easier.

“What are we doing?” Sybil asked. She looked at Matthew for guidance. “I didn’t think we would be… doing anything. I mean, do either of you want to talk about strategy?”

“I thought,” Dickie smirked, “that I would follow the Countess’s example this year and seduce my way to winning.” Violet and Matthew both started laughed, and after a moment so did Sybil. It was gallows humor, Violet thought, but better that then spending the entire time in tears. Especially if what she suspected about Sybil was true.

“We were about to dine upon some delicacies that Mr. McKendrick recommended,” Violet told her, “so do have a seat.”

Sybil did so, but her smile faded quickly. “I might not have anything. My stomach was dreadfully upset this morning.”

“Perhaps then,” Matthew said as he went behind the bar and began working, “you should have a virgin margarita. And we’ll order Mary’s favorite for queasiness, a grilled peanut butter, bacon and banana sandwich.” He winked at Violet.

Sybil made a cross face. “I’m not a child, Matthew. I can have a cocktail at lunch if I want.”

“You’re not a child,” Violet agreed, feeling oddly joyful, “but I wonder if perhaps you are with child, Sybil.” Matthew clearly thought so, and Isobel had remarked more than once how Matthew tended to know such things. And it had been seven weeks since the wedding. She marveled at how lucky she was, Mary with a baby born, Edith already showing, and now Sybil.

“Don’t be silly, Granny,” Sybil protested, her face blushing red. “I’m not with child. I just got married.”

“That oddly often leads to children,” Violet noted, finding it more and more amusing. “Have you been late?” 

“Yes but… I’ve been running and training with Matthew and that makes girls late. That’s what Mama said when I told her.” Sybil put her hand on her stomach and then smiled. “Do you suppose it’s possible that I’ve having a baby?”

“There’s a test you can take when we get to the Capitol,” Violet said quickly. “Until then, perhaps its best if you don’t drink.” She turned to Matthew. “Perhaps you can make us all something celebratory?” Because it was joyful news and Violet had to admit, it relieved her to no end that Sybil would have something to distract her from what was about to happen.


	31. Chapter 31 - On the Rooftop Again

It was backfiring, Matthew realized as he watched the processional of tributes. Whatever Snow had planned or assumed by insisting that victors be the tributes for the Quarter Quell, Matthew suspected it was failing miserably on all fronts. District Ten wasn't the only district with aged victors, several including District Four, had similar volunteering situations. And District Twelve wasn't the only district with only one tribute available, Five and Six had one male and female tribute apiece to begin with which meant both districts had middle aged drug addled tributes who were barely able to stand upright in the chariots. Cousin Violet and Dickie at least looked conscious of where they were, and the costumes weren’t hideous, stylized lady and lord outfits, but it was a travesty and the Capital audience seemed to sense it. The crowd was excited but there was an odd under current to the cheers. The tributes from Twelve got a fierce roar of applause, the rumor going around was that the girl was pregnant. It was probably a lie, it felt like a lie designed to curry even more favor for the girl from the Capitol sponsors. 

Not that it would save her. Matthew had no doubt that the Quell was designed to eliminate the Girl on Fire. Judging by the subdued responses from the crowd, it was starting to sink in that favorite victors weren't going to attend fun parties. No one cared about the ones from District Five and Six, but Finnick Odair, Johanna Mason, and Gloss from District One would be missed from the parties. And no matter what Sybil had made with President Snow, Matthew knew what the next games would be like. He'd be the youngest and handsomest victor left alive. 

As he followed their group to the elevator to their quarters in the Training Center, he realized suddenly that the Capitol citizens had hardly been pleased with the parade. They had cheered as loudly, and thrown flowers, but there was an undercurrent that was troubling. It was an undercurrent, Matthew realized as he looked into the somber faces of Clodia, their attendant, and Aurelia and Paullus their stylists, that was shared almost universally. He wasn’t as biased as some from the Districts, and he had gotten more exposure to Capitol citizens so he knew their view of the Games, and their enjoyment of the Games wasn’t because they were all simply monsters who enjoyed watching children die brutally. Because they were insulated from the aftermath, the grief from the families and the actual horror, they tended to view the Games as a sort of glorious sport and the victors as heroes. They liked, even loved, their favorite victors. Some of the District One and Two victors lapped up the attention and were happy to parade around at parties, flexing and recounting their favorite kills and the Capitol citizens adored them. He even knew that in some circles, it was considered quite the social coup to have the handsome yet mysterious victor Matthew Crawley of District Ten attend an event. The citizens of the Capitol viewed the tributes, the regular tributes, as candidates for them to assess, and whoever won was the newest hero to the people. He had found out the year after his games that he’d become a crowd favorite early on and many people still began conversations with him by mentioning how amazing it was that he won. If it wasn’t for the Quell and President Snow’s odd interest, Sybil would still be the belle of the ball. And with two victors the year prior, the people of the Capitol had likely been besides themselves torturing each other with their plans to snare the newest victors to their parties and events. This year, the parties were going to be somber affairs as favorites were facing death. The people of the Capitol normally didn’t know their tributes as people, they didn’t see the tribute as a person until the tribute won.   
It was another reason that the Quell was a bad idea. If it was really so important to kill the victors from Twelve, he mused as they entered the District 10 quarters, why didn’t they just send a squad of Peacekeepers? Then it struck him. If they didn’t know that using victors as tributes in the Quarter Quell was a bad idea before, they surely knew it now after watching the parade. He had never once considered the possibility that people in the Capitol would ever be anything but happy with the status quo but they were angry and worried, and that worried him. 

“Shall we have a late dinner?” Clodia meekly asked. Sybil made a face and rushed off to her room, clutching her stomach. It almost made him laugh, because it reminded him so much of Mary early in her pregnancy with George, but then it struck him that it was much more likely, considering the hour, that she was simply distraught. Sybil’s emotions had been plain to see for the last few days and truth be told, he was in no mood to soothe her or deal with her feelings.

It was especially grating that everyone in the main room, including the Avox servants, were clearly expecting him to go comfort her. To hell with that, he thought as he ripped off his tie and threw it on the floor. “No dinner for me. I’m going up to the rooftop garden for a bit of fresh air.” He didn’t stomp to the elevator like a petulant child, but he wanted to, because he was tired of being required to hold Sybil’s hand through the horrors. She’s an adult, he told himself as he strode out into the garden, she’s married and she’s a victor. She has to figure out how to live with it on her own.

The roof top garden was as lovely as always. He could see the many lights of the city sparkling and there was an ever present rolling hum from the crowds even though he was so far up. He took a seat on one of the small benches and did the calming breathing exercises that Reggie Swire had taught him. I can get through this, he told himself, I can get through this and I will get through this because I need to get back to Mary and dear little George. He took out the small picture he’d tucked into his suit jacket and looked at it. It was Mary in the hospital, just after giving birth, holding George and looking radiant. Remember this, he told himself. Sybil is your cousin and Mary is your wife and you’ve already chosen between them. It’s awful for everyone, not just Sybil, you can’t save her from every moment of pain.

The elevator chimed and he braced himself for the onslaught of Sybil’s guilty emotions. Much to his surprise, it was Violet, not Sybil, and she was holding a small picnic basket. She walked over and took a seat next to him. “Every year,” she intoned as she opened the basket, “I promise your mother that you won’t return as thin as a rail, and every year you spite us both. This year, she won’t have me to waste her complaints on, so you need to eat.” She lifted out a small bamboo tray that was still hot. “Clodia found a place that makes those ghastly buns full of meat that you enjoy and I know you can, when you have a mind to, stuff yourself silly with them so eat. There’s also some vegetables and that dreadful dipping sauce you said you enjoy, heavens knows why.”

After a moment, he took the tray of steaming buns. “I believe it’s called hummus, not dreadful dipping sauce. Thank you, Violet.”

“We treat Sybil differently,” she said after a moment. “I let Hodges and Dickie handle the more unsavory parts of teaching you the ways of the Capitol, and they decided to throw you in and see if you could swim. And you did swim… All things considered, you swam quite well for someone who had their legs and feet tied together and weights thrown on top.” She paused. “I realize now that it was cruel of us, that you might have adjusted more quickly and more easily if we’d made an effort to help you. Mary said you were a wonderful teacher, I had my doubts and then I watched as you led Sybil through a trail mined with horrors. You are why she is so well adjusted. I thank you for that, for showing her the kindness that we never showed you.”

“You don’t need to flatter me,” he said as he picked up one of the buns. “She’s in her room crying because she’s not coping.”

“She’s in her room crying because she knows that I will die in about six days and there’s no way for that to be prevented.” Violet patted his knee. “That is something you can’t help her with, which I think you know, but you’re like your mother and your father when it comes to caring. It’s why you’re a good teacher. That’s why your heart bleeds for every tribute, no matter that you can’t prevent it either. Don’t torture yourself over Dickie or I. And don’t think you need to help Sybil over every step she takes. She has the Crawley steel inside her. “

“I don’t have that steel,” he muttered. It felt like a joke.

“Nonsense. You have that steel in such abundance, I worried, and your mother worried, that it would harden you beyond reason, or that you’d turn it on yourself. But instead, you came through the fire and became the man I am sitting next to. A kind, caring man, who is struggling between choosing to continue helping his cousin find her footing and preserving himself for his wife and child.” She smiled at him slightly. “Choose the latter and don’t feel guilty, Matthew. Sybil can and will find her footing. We were wrong to throw you in and let you sink or swim with no assistance, but you’re wrong to hover around the pool with a safety line and a life preserver. She has to learn to swim by herself.” She took his hand and gripped it firmly. “I suspect the two of you will need to lean on each other quite hard over the next few weeks. I ask that you help her, but don’t be afraid to lean on her the way she’s leaned on you these last two years. She can take it.”

He waited a long moment. “Something is going to happen. They’re doing this to eliminate the District Twelve victors. I don’t know why.” The victors from Twelve seemed content to do as they were asked, including marry.

“They’re being fools, Matthew.” She looked him, her eyes intent. “Or rather, someone is letting their paranoia get the better of their normal good sense. The girl is a symbol, and the boy to a lesser extent, because she stood against the power of the Capitol. She bent them to her will. Those in charge think the people will rally around her. That’s why someone is so hell bent on killing her.” She dropped her voice. “Dazzle me with your intellect, Matthew. You see the problem, I know you do.”

He nodded. He did see it. “They fear her as a symbol of rebellion but they’re fanning the flames by guaranteeing so many victors die. Our people thought it was unfair. Even the Capitol people think it is unfair.”

Violet nodded. “All over a girl who was content to fall back into the woodwork of District Twelve as long as she was left alone.” She smiled suddenly. “For what it’s worth, I think this will be the last games you attend, Matthew. Dickie and I have already decided our strategy. We’re going to head to the Cornucopia.” She chuckled. “Well, between my cane, and Dickie’s weight, I suspect we’ll both be about five steps off the platforms when District One and Two find the weapons. It will be quick, and Sybil will cry, and so will you, I think, and you have five minutes for that luxury. Then you will take your already packed bags and go immediately to the train station. You have no appointments and I had Clodia send someone one last request… that in the event of my death, that my remains be returned to my family as quickly as possible, and that someone agreed. That should keep you safe but… You know there’s a plan.”

Again, he nodded. “That we’re excluded from,” he muttered bitterly.

“Be glad of that,” Violet snapped. “Whatever that plan is, it’s designed to make one person a symbol or a martyr, the girl from Twelve, and everyone else will be sacrificed for that goal. Once their plan goes into effect, any remaining victors, including mentors, will be rounded up and considered part of the conspiracy. If you’re already back in District Ten or on the train, the two of you will at least have a chance. I don’t blame you for wanting to fight, but give yourself a chance. Promise me this, Matthew.”

“I promise,” Matthew said. “I… promised Mary I’d be back, and I promised Tom and Robert that I’d bring Sybil home. Don’t worry.”

“I won’t.” Violet said it easily. “You both have the steel inside to survive. Now finish these buns. I won’t have your mother angry with me over how thin you are.”


	32. Chapter 32 - The 75th Games Begin

It was a surprisingly beautiful morning. Crisp, with the leaves in their autumnal multi-colored glory, Robert found himself at the large folly his father had designed and built. It was a ridiculous thing, made with costly supplies from all of the other districts. A wedding gift, his father had called it, a temple to Diana to honor his victor wife. Robert could think of no better place to wait. The church bells rang out, signaling the start of the Games.

Not much long after, he saw Cora walking across the grass to where he was. He managed a smile as she took a seat beside him on the low marble bench. “Have you come to fetch me?”

Cora nodded, her face filled with concern. She took his hand. “It’s done.”

“Was it…” He stopped himself. “I don’t know that I should ask.” He didn’t want the horrid details. At the same time, it felt wrong to not know. Bad enough he hadn’t watched, but he knew Violet hadn’t wanted him to see it.

Cora squeezed his hand. “The Arena is mostly water. Deep water… It was very quick, Robert. She went into the water and never came up.”

He nodded. “She should have died in her bed, surrounded by her family.” He couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“She died in order to save my daughter,” Cora spoke softly. “As much as we argued, as much as she considered me a terrible choice, I can never thank her enough for this. But you’re right, Robert. She should have died here, in her bed.” She waited a long moment. “I know the time is coming. When do we leave?”

It shook him, because she was one of the few people not expressly included in the planning, but only for a moment. “I can’t hide anything from you, can I?”

“Nothing that you don’t already want to tell me,” she responded easily. “My mother gave me very little useful advice on being married but she did tell me that it’s sometimes better to not reveal how well you know your husband. I know you very well, Robert. So, there’s a plan and it’s time I knew the details. Where you go, I go.”

“It will be very rough,” he admitted. But the truth was that he never seriously considered leaving any member of the household behind unless they refused to go.

“As if staying behind would be a treat,” Cora scoffed. “I play my part as your often silly wife well, because part of my job as a wife is to help you by supporting you and being what you need, but I am well aware that the next part of our lives will be much less lavish. I’m prepared.” She chuckled suddenly. “Have gun, will travel, is the Levinson family motto, you know. When do we go?”

He was glad suddenly that they were outdoors and could speak freely without the concern of being overheard. “Technically it could happen at any time but it’s planned for forty eight hours from now. There will be an attack on the Arena. I don’t know the details, I just know that’s the signal to leave. We have someplace to go. I’ve had Bates and Barrow going back and forth, under the wire, preparing. It will be a rough ride but I am thankful we will be together.”

Cora nodded but her eyes betrayed her worry. Finally, she spoke softly. “Forty eight hours at best… What about Sybil? And Matthew?”

It was the problem that worried him as well. “Matthew knows where we are going, he memorized the route. I told him, and Violet told him, to leave the Capitol as soon as they can. If McKendrick doesn’t linger, they could conceivably be back here in two days.”

Cora nodded. “I hate taking pleasure in this but Dickie outlasted your mother by perhaps two minutes. There’s a chance they could be here when this all blows up.”

“Yes,” Robert agreed, and he kept his misgivings to himself. There was a chance it could all work, but a much bigger chance Matthew and Sybil wouldn’t get out of the Capitol in time. Or they could be on the train when the Games blew up, which meant they’d be hauled back to the Capitol for questioning. There was much to worry about but the reality was that if Matthew and Sybil weren’t in District Ten when the time came to go under the wire, they would have to make it to the rally point on their own.

He stood up and shook off that dark thought and exchanged it for another. “I must go to the house and accept the sympathy of the well wishers.” It occurred to him then that it was very unlikely that his mother would have the funeral she deserved. “I will need to lean on you very much today, dear Cora.”

She took his arm and smiled wryly. “My shoulders are strong enough to bear it, Robert. Lean as hard as you need to.”

~*~  
Matthew was glad for many reasons that the traditional party among victors had been canceled for the 75th Games. It was never an especially jolly event to begin with, and with literally half the usual participants actually in the Games, no one seemed interested in maintaining the tradition. As Sybil sobbed beside him, he considered what they were going to do. The mentors were usually notified by discreet calls to their Capitol representatives when the bodies were ready to transport. He believed Violet in that he was certain she had requested a final favor of President Snow, that her granddaughter be allowed to leave as soon as it could be allowed, he just questioned whether Snow would actually grant the favor. His own experience told him that people often agreed to favors when they knew the one asking was very unlikely to ever know if the favor was actually performed. 

Let’s assume, he decided as he rose to his feet, that we’ll be able to leave tonight. He was packed. Sybil wasn’t, judging by his quick look inside her bedroom, but that was easily remedied. It hurt, as he stepped into Violet’s room, to see her carefully packed luggage. That was her to the last, he though sadly, sparing him the grief of packing her things up. She had to know he wouldn’t have put the task to Sybil or to Clodia and the stylists Aurelia and Paulus, all of whom were uncharacteristically drunk and seated in front of the viewer. 

Dickie’s room was a mess, of course. The older man had been surprisingly good humored the whole time but that was mostly due to the large quantities of alcohol he was consuming. There were empty bottles everywhere. Surprisingly though, Dickie’s rings were carefully displayed on the nightstand with a note addressed to him. Matthew hesitated and then opened it. 

Please thank your mother again for all her kindness. I’ve never deserved until today. Take my rings. They’re made of expensive District One stones. Things might go bad on your way home, you might need something to trade. 

It was signed Richard McKendrick, in a surprisingly neat hand. A wasted life, Matthew thought angrily. Underneath the drunkenness, the post traumatic stress, Dickie McKendrick was a clever man who in a different setting could have been a business man or an artist. He scooped up the rings and took them to his bedroom. He had brought far more jewelry with him than normal to begin with, for similar reasons. The idea was in his head that while they might get on the train with no issues, they might find themselves off the train if things went badly. The sooner we leave, he thought as he went back to the main living area, the better.

Sybil had pulled herself together, and he made a point of not commenting. She was trying, she was handling it better than he expected, truth be told. They had talked abstractly about what would happen, that they would leave as soon as possible. Normally it was about forty eight hours before the bodies were released, and normally he usually had appointments that involved staying until the games were down to the final eight. Violet said that she had asked for and been granted the favor of quick retrieval and a speedy return home but Matthew had his doubts.

Which was why he was remarkably startled when the elevator door opened and President Snow stepped into their quarters. It was like having the door open by surprise and having a giant snake leap out, he couldn’t help but jump and stumble. It was a struggle to not give in to the urge to leap and strike at the threat. And Snow was a threat, which made it all the more difficult. Snow eyed him carefully as he stepped closer. Behind him were two Peacekeepers and several Avox servants.

“Am I really that frightening, Mr. Crawley?” Snow smirked as he spoke. “Come now, you’re known for killing larger and better skilled opponents with your bare hands.” He gestured to himself. “For what it’s worth, I’m sure you could take me. Easily.”

Matthew took a deep breath and let it out, calming himself. A trap, he realized as he saw the two Peacekeepers. Probably not even a serious trap. Sybil was the important one to Snow, the one who was most likely going to return to District Ten without incident. It likely amused Snow to test him. If he reacted to surprise by leaping at the president, the Peacekeepers would put him down with nary a thought and no one would question it. He doubted it mattered greatly to President Snow whether the trap was sprung or not. “Perhaps,” Matthew said carefully, “if you called ahead, it wouldn’t be so startling to have the President of Panem just suddenly appear.”

“You District Ten sorts do love your manners and etiquette, don’t you?” Snow mused. “But enough chitchat. I’m not a man who grants favors often but when I do, I take them seriously. Violet asked me to see to it that you and Lady Sybil were on the train as soon as it was possible.” He gestured to the Avox servants he had brought. “Pack everything that isn’t packed already.” The servants moved as one, skirting around Sybil, who had come to the elevator as well.

“President Snow… why are you here?” she asked. “Haven’t you done enough?”

“Sybil,” Matthew warned. “Don’t be disrespectful.” To Snow he said quickly, “Please excuse Lady Sybil’s rudeness. She is understandably upset by the day’s events.”

Snow seemed more amused than angry. “I hope Lady Mary’s charming little son inherits his father’s intellect and discretion. Lady Sybil, I am here to fulfill your grandmother’s last request of me, that you and Mr. Crawley be sent back to your district as soon as it was possible. The servants will gather your things and load them. Come with me to the car.”

Matthew was glad suddenly that their bags were already packed. For whatever reason, false attachment to a grandchild he couldn’t acknowledge, or that the man considered it a genuine point of honor to grant the favor he’d made to a woman already dead, Snow seemed to mean it, that all he was up to was expediting their return to District Ten.

The car ride was short and silent. Sybil was struggling to not say something ugly to the man. Snow, for his part, appeared to be bored with them, participating in a dreary chore. Matthew decided to roll with it. They were getting out of the Capitol at least a day sooner than he expected and if the return to District Ten was going to be sad, at least they would be safe when whatever was going to happen happened. Something was going to happen, he was utterly certain of that.

The train was waiting, the servants were already loading their luggage when they pulled up to the nearly empty train station. Everyone must be watching the Games, Matthew realized as he looked around.

Snow gestured to the train. “Everything is ready.” He bowed slightly to Sybil. “I’ve done my duty to your grandmother’s request. Please accept my condolences, and my genuine relief that you’ll be back in District Ten before these Games end.” He eyed them both. “There is an ill wind blowing. Let’s hope you both avoid it on your journey.” With that he got back in the car.

“Let’s get on the train,” Matthew told Sybil, hoping the sudden feeling of dread wasn’t a bad sign of things to come.


End file.
